text: [Themes: Horror, teenage protagonist, Lovecraftian, horror]
  
  > Go downwards
  The cellar is low-ceilinged and grimy, with an irregular concrete floor and cobwebs that droop from the exposed rafters. The vague light comes from a couple of tiny windows and the door to the driveway. Along an inner wall is a workbench. The door to the driveway is to the west, a doorway opens eastward on absolute darkness, and a staircase against the north wall leads upward.
  
  > examine the windows
  The windows are small and square. A little light spills from them down into the cellar.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying a burlap sack (which contains a sequined jacket and a flashlight), the key to Cabin One, a wooden bucket, an old shovel, a pill bottle, and a little white pill. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > look at clutter
  It's mostly just a bunch of junk and discarded furniture. Squatting in the midst of the clutter is a battered old trunk.
  
  > go west
  The gravel driveway runs behind the big house, which looms over you to the east. At the north end the driveway passes through a high hedge, and at the south it opens out into an area in front of a shack, where a dusty van is parked. A pair of low doors angles out from the foundation of the house at this spot.
  
  You see a dead possum here.
  
  > Go south
  A slant-roofed, sagging shack stands here. There might have been a bit of vegetable garden beside it at one time, but all that's left now is a jumble of weeds and rusting junk. The large passenger van belonging to the resort stands in front of the shack, its hood up.
  
  Tyrone is standing hunched over the van's engine, peering down into the innards.
  
  You can go south to the open area behind the cabins, northwest along the gravel driveway, north to the back door of the main house, or northeast on a path that leads around the corner of the house. An overgrown brick walkway leads east along the side of the nearest cabin. The shack itself is to the west from this spot, and the garden beside it is to the southwest.
  
  > Go south
  The open area behind the western row of cabins is thinly carpeted with scruffy, dusty weeds. A large, rusted incinerator stands in the middle of the open space. A scraggly tree has set down roots quite close to the leftmost of the three cabins whose rear walls form a barrier to the east.
  
  To the south is the shed at the edge of the swamp. You can go north to the area in front of the run-down shack, where the motel's dusty van is parked. The overgrown, junk-strewn garden beside the shack is to the west.
  
  > go to the east
  The path meanders eastward along the shore of the swamp. Shortly the shore curves away southward, and you find yourself in a broad meadow.
  
  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 to the 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. Evidently the dog has had some fun chasing the rabbits, because they're gone.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the cigar
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  Tyrone scratches his head. "I guess I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
  
  > ask Tyrone about cigars
  Tyrone spreads his hands. "You got me."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the wasps
  "I keep meanin' to clean out that ole wasp nest," Tyrone says. "Send the lady guests off runnin' and screamin', they see a wasp. If we had any guests 'round here, that is. You-all pretty much the biggest batch we seen all year."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the torch
  Tyrone grins and shakes his head. "You're just full o' questions, ain't you?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about the barrel
  "That big ole rusty can down there behind the cabins? We burn stuff in it sometimes, scrap paper an' whatnot. Maybe you never seen one before, comin' from New York the way you do."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the tunnel
  Tyrone shrugs. "None o' my concern, and that's the truth."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the lydia
  When you mention the apparition you saw hovering around the stone block
  
  > ask Tyrone about the cellar
  in the meadow, Tyrone starts poking around very busily in the innards of the van. "People see lots o' things," he says, not looking at you. "People ought to mind their own business."
  
  "But this ghost," you tell him, not quite willing to give up, "it was like she was in pain."
  
  Tyrone sighs heavily. "And what are you tellin' me about it for? You think old Tyrone can do anything about it? That ghost, she been around here for a long, long time. I see her once in a while, on a moonlit night, comin' up between the cabins. I don't know if she's in any pain, but I think she's sad. I think when she sees folks that are alive, it reminds her of what she lost.
  
  "It's too bad you don't have nobody here that's your own age, honey. That ghost, she's about your age. If you can see her, and in broad daylight too, maybe you want to try to make friends with her. You could do worse."
  
  "But how would I do that?" you ask. "How can anybody make friends with a ghost?"
  
  "Same way as you'd make friends with anybody else, I expect. Find somethin' she cares about. I couldn't rightly tell you what that would be, but I guess there's bound to be somethin'. If she didn't care about nothin', why would she be hangin' around, you ask yourself that?"
  
  Tyrone scratches his head. "I guess I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
  
  > Go south
  Tyrone shrugs and goes back to work on the van.
  
  The open area behind the western row of cabins is thinly carpeted with scruffy, dusty weeds. A large, rusted incinerator stands in the middle of the open space. A scraggly tree has set down roots quite close to the leftmost of the three cabins whose rear walls form a barrier to the east.
  
  To the south is the shed at the edge of the swamp. You can go north to the area in front of the run-down shack, where the motel's dusty van is parked. The overgrown, junk-strewn garden beside the shack is to the west.
  
  > Show jacket to lydia
  (first putting the old shovel in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the sequined jacket from the burlap sack)
  The ghost seems not to have noticed. Its agitated flight about the meadow continues unabated.
  
  > Kiss lydia
  She's too insubstantial for that.
  
  > show the shovel to the lydia
  (first putting the pill bottle in the burlap sack to make room, then putting the key to Cabin One in the burlap sack to make room, then putting the little white pill in the burlap sack to make room, then putting the sequined jacket in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the old shovel from the burlap sack)
  The ghost exhibits no curiosity about what you're offering.
  
  > ask the lydia about the lydia
  Instead of answering, the ghost undulates sickeningly, as if underwater.
  
  > put the jacket in the sack
  The sequined jacket is already in the burlap sack.
  
  > fill the bucket
  You fill the bucket from the swamp.
  
  > examine the bucket
  It's an old-fashioned, leaky-looking wooden bucket. There's water in it, and the water is dribbling from narrow gaps in the sides.
  
  > examine the water
  Which water do you mean, the water in the bucket, or the swamp?
  
  > Bucket
  That was not one of the choices. Which did you mean, the water in the bucket, or the swamp?
  
  > Water in the bucket
  The water is sloshing around in the bucket.
  
  > pour the water  in the incinerator
  That would only make a mess of wet ashes.
  
  > pour the water on Honey
  Honey Hartwell is not in need of a bath.
  
  Honey wiggles her toes.
  
  > Go west
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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.
  
  Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch, gazing out placidly across the lawn. Once in a while his eyes flick toward you, as if he's watching you while pretending not to.
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > take the shovel
  You are already carrying the old shovel.
  
  > hit nest with the shovel
  Disturbing the wasps would be a really, really bad idea.
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > pour the water on Beauregard
  Beauregard Phelps is not in need of a bath.
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > hit Phelps with the shovel
  You could probably do some damage with the old shovel, but on the other hand, the consequences could hardly be good.
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > go to the east
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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.
  
  > ask Honey about Phelps
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  "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."
  
  > ask Honey about the boys
  When you describe the oafish behavior of the farm boys, Honey throws back her head and laughs. "They sound like fun," she declares.
  
  > ask Honey about the dog
  You tell Honey how the dog ran off when you told him about the rabbits. She laughs. "Guess he's smarter than he looks, then," she says. "But I'll bet he never caught a rabbit, and he ain't no friend of mine. You know that song?"
  
  Honey tugs at a strap on her top.
  
  > ask Honey 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."
  
  Honey adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > go southwest
  As you walk away, Honey goes back to reading (if that's the right word) her magazine.
  
  A slant-roofed, sagging shack stands here. There might have been a bit of vegetable garden beside it at one time, but all that's left now is a jumble of weeds and rusting junk. The large passenger van belonging to the resort stands in front of the shack, its hood up.
  
  Tyrone is standing hunched over the van's engine, peering down into the innards.
  
  You can go south to the open area behind the cabins, northwest along the gravel driveway, north to the back door of the main house, or northeast on a path that leads around the corner of the house. An overgrown brick walkway leads east along the side of the nearest cabin. The shack itself is to the west from this spot, and the garden beside it is to the southwest.
  
  > look at the window
  The bathroom window is less than three feet square. It's standing wide open, and there's no screen. Looking through the window, you can see the interior of the bathroom in Cabin Four.
  
  > Go east
  Peering cautiously in the window, you can see straight out through the door of the bathroom and into the cabin, proper. A man is sitting on the bed, hunched over and frowning in concentration as he types on the keyboard of a small laptop computer. If you try to climb in the window, he's bound to spot you in an instant.
  
  > go east
  (first opening the door of Cabin Two)
  Reverend Gillespie appears at the door of Cabin Two and looks down at you. "Yes? I'm really very busy just now, but if it's important...."
  
  > ask Reverend about Phelps
  "Ah, yes - our gracious host. A diamond in the rough," the reverend declares. "He does seem uncouth, but I'm sure there's hope for his eternal salvation."
  
  > ask him about the lydia
  You tell the Reverend that you personally believe there's some sort of life after death, because you've seen a ghost. You're half hoping he'll ask where, but the topic doesn't seem to interest him. "The ways of the Lord are mysterious," he says vaguely.
  
  > ask him about Tyrone
  "A plain-spoken, hard-workin' man," Gillespie says. "I wouldn't say a word against him. Though he is a little ... unfriendly, don't you think?"
  
  > ask him about Honey
  "The young lady from Nashville, yes. Very attractive. A trifle ... obvious, don't you think? But it's not my place to judge."
  
  > ask him about the dog
  "The dog?" Gillespie looks a little askance. "He seemed quite ill-tempered to me. I'm plannin' to keep my distance. He seemed partial to the hired man, though. If you want to know more about him, I expect you ought to ask - what's his name, now? - Tyrone."
  
  > ask him about bye bayou
  Gillespie smiles a meaningless smile. "My, but it's hot this afternoon."
  
  > tell him about boys
  Gillespie looks bored. "Very interesting, I'm sure, but I don't imagine it concerns me."
  
  > ask him about the bible
  "Ah, the Holy Scripture," the reverend intones. "I read it daily.
  It's often a source of great comfort when I am sore afflicted."
  
  Feeling a little feisty, you ask the reverend if he'd be so good as to read a verse to you right now. "Yes, of course," he says instantly ... but then his face contorts with a swift and startling variety of expressions. His eyes dart around as if he's wondering whether anyone is there to overhear. "Well, perhaps not right now," he says, drawing the words out hesitantly. "Perhaps later. Yes."
  
  > Bye
  Nothing obvious happens.
  
  > 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 stretches languidly.
  
  > ask Honey about Reverend
  Honey lowers her magazine and turns her big round dark glasses in your direction. "Well, hello, there."
  
  Honey nods. "That preacher fella? I saw him when he checked in. He looks very distinguished, don't you think?"
  
  > ask Honey about the magazine
  Honey leafs through the magazine. Either she didn't hear you, or she's pretending she didn't.
  
  Honey adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > go southwest
  As you walk away, Honey goes back to reading (if that's the right word) her magazine.
  
  A slant-roofed, sagging shack stands here. There might have been a bit of vegetable garden beside it at one time, but all that's left now is a jumble of weeds and rusting junk. The large passenger van belonging to the resort stands in front of the shack, its hood up.
  
  Tyrone is standing hunched over the van's engine, peering down into the innards.
  
  You can go south to the open area behind the cabins, northwest along the gravel driveway, north to the back door of the main house, or northeast on a path that leads around the corner of the house. An overgrown brick walkway leads east along the side of the nearest cabin. The shack itself is to the west from this spot, and the garden beside it is to the southwest.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the engine
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  "I really ought to get back and work some more on that van," Tyrone says apologetically. "I love talkin' with you, an' that's the truth, but I don' want Mr. Beauregard gettin' mad at me, now, do I?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about Reverend
  Tyrone snorts quietly. "The preacher? Awful full of hisself, I'd say. I wouldn't trust him to shine my shoes, and that's the truth."
  
  > ask Tyrone about crowbar
  Tyrone scratches his head. "I guess I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the boys
  When you mention the farm boys you ran into down the road, Tyrone snorts with quiet contempt. "They's good for nothin'. Good for nothin', but always up to somethin'. Best you steer clear of 'em, if you know what's good for you."
  
  > tell Tyrone about the dog
  Tyrone looks disgusted. "Ole Bailey's a nuisance, is what he is. That's the dog's name, Bailey. Let him run loose, he'd chase rabbits all day long. Them rabbits always get him all het up. He's too slow an' stupid to catch nothin', though. Not unless it's already dead." Tyrone chuckles gently at his own joke.
  
  > Go northeast
  Tyrone shrugs and goes back to work on the van.
  
  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 adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > Go west
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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.
  
  Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch, gazing out placidly across the lawn. Once in a while his eyes flick toward you, as if he's watching you while pretending not to.
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > sit on the couch
  You're not eager to get that close to Beauregard Phelps.
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > Kiss Phelps
  The danger is, he might like it.
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > search Phelps
  (first trying to go over to Beauregard Phelps)
  Beauregard Phelps is too far away.
  
  > pour the water on the couch
  The couch is not in need of a bath.
  
  Beauregard smacks his lips. "That young lady from Nashville, now - she's quite somethin', ain't she?"
  
  > examine the couch
  The old couch was upholstered in nubbly beige cloth a very long time ago. Woolly white stuffing is coming out through various rips and holes, and the cloth itself is badly stained, as if animals are in the habit of sleeping on it.
  
  Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch.
  
  Beauregard belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > search the couch
  There's no practical way to search the couch while Beauregard Phelps is sitting on it.
  
  Beauregard points at where Honey is sunbathing on the lawn. "Quite a little heifer, ain't she? Course, you wouldn't know."
  
  > look at the pants
  Phelps's trousers provide plenty of fabric to cover the lower part of his considerable bulk. They're khaki-colored and held up by suspenders. The pockets are sagging open, possibly because of the relaxed way he's half-reclining on the couch.
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > look at the pockets
  Phelps's trousers provide plenty of fabric to cover the lower part of his considerable bulk. They're khaki-colored and held up by suspenders. The pockets are sagging open, possibly because of the relaxed way he's half-reclining on the couch.
  
  "Wish I had me a seegar," Beauregard says wistfully. "Summer afternoons just ain't the same since I gave up them seegars."
  
  > Search pockets
  Sticking your hands in his pants pockets while he's wearing the pants is not something you could ever bring yourself to do.
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > ask Phelps about the cigars
  Having been taught good manners, you can't quite bring yourself to ignore Phelps, so you nod to him and mumble a hello.
  
  He smiles at you and nods heavily. "You enjoyin' our balmy Southern weather, darlin'?"
  
  Beauregard stifles a yawn. "Gettin' time for my afternoon nap, but I'm just too keyed up this afternoon to sleep."
  
  > give the pill to Phelps
  (first taking the little white pill from the burlap sack)
  You consider showing Beauregard the sleeping pill, but two thoughts dissuade you. First, you don't want him to know you're stealing things from the other guests' cabins, and second, he might take the pill away from you before you find a use for it.
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > ask Phelps about the porch
  "This useta all be prime farm land, once," Beauregard says, waving his arm. "We grew us a fine crop o' leaf. Was you sayin' somethin'?"
  
  > ask him about the tobacco
  Beauregard shows his teeth in a grimace that he probably thinks is a smile. "You're gonna look so cute in that white dress!"
  
  Beauregard belches, and doesn't apologize.
  
  > ask him about the seegar
  "I hope I git up to see New York sometime," Beauregard says irrelevantly.
  
  "Wish I had me a seegar," Beauregard says wistfully. "Summer afternoons just ain't the same since I gave up them seegars."
  
  > ask him about the railing
  Beauregard beams benignly at you. "You are just the cutest little thang. I can't get over it."
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > examine the suspenders
  Phelps's trousers provide plenty of fabric to cover the lower part of his considerable bulk. They're khaki-colored and held up by suspenders. The pockets are sagging open, possibly because of the relaxed way he's half-reclining on the couch.
  
  Beauregard points at where Honey is sunbathing on the lawn. "Quite a little heifer, ain't she? Course, you wouldn't know."
  
  > look in the pockets
  Sticking your hands in his pants pockets while he's wearing the pants is not something you could ever bring yourself to do.
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > ask him about the wasps
  "You worried about them wasps, sweet pea? They won't bother you none."
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > pour the water on the wasps
  The wasp nest is not in need of a bath.
  
  "I heard your aunt's gonna get you all dolled up for the picnic. I just can't wait!"
  
  > ask him about the vise
  Beauregard pulls his gaze back from the lawn. "Was you sayin' somethin', sweet pea?"
  
  Beauregard smacks his lips. "That young lady from Nashville, now - she's quite somethin', ain't she?"
  
  > ask him about the boathouse
  "I hope I git up to see New York sometime," Beauregard says irrelevantly.
  
  Beauregard lazily waves away a curious wasp.
  
  > ask him about the new york
  Beauregard shows his teeth in a grimace that he probably thinks is a smile. "You're gonna look so cute in that white dress!"
  
  > ask him about the boat
  Beauregard stifles a yawn. "Gettin' time for my afternoon nap, but I'm just too keyed up this afternoon to sleep."
  
  Beauregard beams at you in a slimy, sweaty way.
  
  > ask him about the key
  "You lose your cabin key?" Phelps says, his voice oozing fake sympathy. "Well, I don't expect your aunt will have locked the door. You can come and go pretty much wherever you want around here, exceptin' only Tyrone's shack and a few places like that. Ole Tyrone, he don't much cotton to havin' strangers pokin' around in his things."
  
  "Wish I had me a seegar," Beauregard says wistfully. "Summer afternoons just ain't the same since I gave up them seegars."
  
  > Go east
  Phelps turns away from you, scratches himself, and goes back to gazing out across the lawn.
  
  As you put your weight on the steps, several of the boards creak loudly.
  
  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 inspects her perfectly manicured bright pink nails.
  
  > go to the southwest
  A slant-roofed, sagging shack stands here. There might have been a bit of vegetable garden beside it at one time, but all that's left now is a jumble of weeds and rusting junk. The large passenger van belonging to the resort stands in front of the shack, its hood up.
  
  Tyrone is standing hunched over the van's engine, peering down into the innards.
  
  You can go south to the open area behind the cabins, northwest along the gravel driveway, north to the back door of the main house, or northeast on a path that leads around the corner of the house. An overgrown brick walkway leads east along the side of the nearest cabin. The shack itself is to the west from this spot, and the garden beside it is to the southwest.
  
  > Close vise
  Crushing the little white pill in the vise would only be pointless vandalism.
  
  > put the pill in the bottle
  (first taking the little white pill)
  Done.
  
  > dig dirt
  You glance at the dirt and instantly dismiss it as unimportant.
  
  > dig the floor
  (with the old shovel)
  You have no reason to dig in that.
  
  > go east
  You can't go that way. Obvious exits lead north, back to the front of the shack; south, to the front of the boat shed; west, to the garden of junk; and up, to the perch in the tree.
  
  > pour the water on the altar
  Which water do you mean, the swamp, or the water in the bucket?
  
  > examine the carvings
  You kneel and push aside the grass to try to get a clear view of the carvings on the block, but suddenly the ghost is whirling around you, shrieking. Terrified, you lurch to your feet and stagger backward.
  
  > Go south
  The water is filthy, and there are undoubtedly alligators. You consider swimming, but half a second later you reject the idea with a shudder.