text: November, 1997.
  
  You take a deep breath of salty air as the first raindrops begin to spatter the pavement, and the swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky mutter ominous portents amongst themselves over the little coastal town of Anchorhead.
  
  Squinting up into the glowering storm, you wonder how everything managed to happen so fast. The strange phone call over a month ago, from a lawyer claiming to represent the estate of some distant branch of Michael's family, was bewildering enough in itself... but then the sudden whirlwind of planning and decisions, legal details and travel arrangements, the packing up and shipping away of your entire home, your entire life...
  
  Now suddenly here you are, after driving for the past two days straight, over a thousand miles away from the familiar warmth of Texas, getting ready to move into the ancestral mansion of a clan of relatives so far removed that not even Michael has ever heard of them. And you've only been married since June and none of this was any of your idea in the first place, and already it's starting to rain.
  
  These days, you often find yourself feeling confused and uprooted.
  
  You shake yourself and force the melancholy thoughts from your head, trying to focus on the errand at hand. You're to meet with the real estate agent and pick up the keys to your new house while Michael runs across town to take care of some paperwork at the university. He'll be back to pick you up in a few minutes, and then the two of you can begin the long, precarious process of settling in.
  
  A sullen belch emanates from the clouds, and the rain starts coming down harder -- fat, cold drops smacking loudly against the cobblestones. Shouldn't it be snowing in New England at this time of year? With a sigh, you open your umbrella.
  
  Welcome to Anchorhead...
  
  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.
  
  > Go upwards
  The window is too high.
  
  > ascend
  (opening the transom window first)
  (closing the umbrella first)
  It's a tight squeeze, but you just manage to wriggle through, dropping quietly to the floor inside.
  
  Peering through the murk, you can make out the blocky outlines of filing cabinets lining the walls and a doorway to the west. A window high up on the south wall lets in a very faint illumination.
  
  > Go west
  (opening the real estate office door first)
  It seems to be locked.
  
  > unlock door
  You unlock the office door.
  
  > Go west
  (opening the real estate office door first)
  The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella.
  
  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.
  
  The office door is open.
  
  > close the door
  You close the real estate office door.
  
  > go to the east
  The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella.
  
  Isolated and serene within its high, ivy-covered walls, Miskaton University represents this benighted town's single, if somewhat dubious, claim to cultural achievement. Founded some time in the early 1800s, the school's reputation and enrollment have diminished somewhat as Anchorhead drifts further and further into the abyss of provincial backwaterism. Still, it is generally recognized for its collection of folklore and esoteric mythology (one of the oldest and most extensive on the east coast). The Board of Deans was also kind enough to offer Michael a full professorship upon hearing of his recently discovered heritage and his plans to move into the estate. Ivory tower, perhaps, but at least they take care of their own.
  
  There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one you are interested in is the library to the west.
  
  Michael hurries to catch up.
  
  "I apologized about the car, right?" says Michael sheepishly.
  
  A sudden gust of wind blows a cold spray of rain into your face.
  
  > tell Michael about the real estate agent
  He frowns as you tell him about the real estate agent's disappearance. "That is rather odd," he says. "I wonder where she could be?"
  
  > ask Michael about the house
  "The Verlac family has been living in that old place for generations; they're an integral part of the history of this whole region. It's really quite interesting."
  
  > go southeast
  To the north, a gap in the crowded press of gloomy buildings opens onto a country lane, heading out over a grassy heath. The main street continues to the east, while to the northwest, over the top of a steep rise, you can just make out the vaulted rooftops of the university.
  
  Michael strolls along after you.
  
  > Go east
  As the lane winds along from east to west, it narrows until the steep, jagged rooftops on either side of the street practically touch each other. To the south, a side street leads across Whateley Bridge toward the center of town, and a twisting lane leads up a hill to the northwest. A short flight of steps to the north leads down to the local watering hole.
  
  Michael hurries to catch up.
  
  > Go south
  A hoary monument of crumbling, moss-eaten flagstones, Whateley Bridge is possibly older than any other structure in the entire city. Ponderously it spans the dark, torpid waters of the Miskaton River, connecting the north and south halves of the city and occasionally raining bits of gravel and mortar from its underside into the water. It looks just wide enough for two cars to pass each other between the flanking stone parapets, but you wouldn't volunteer to try it.
  
  Michael hurries to catch up.
  
  > go south
  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.
  
  Michael strolls along after you.
  
  > go east
  A low, irregular brick wall to the north divides this street from the steep, mud-slick banks of the sinuous Miskaton, while a rusty iron gate provides access to a precarious flight of stone steps leading down the bank to the water's edge. The street bends south here, turning into a misty avenue between the trees. The town square lies west, a vacant lot lies east.
  
  Michael follows you.
  
  > go to the south
  Perhaps it is merely the effect of some unwholesome vapour rising from the murky waters of the nearby Miskaton, but the temperature along this street seems perceptibly cooler than normal, even for a New England autumn. Two dirt roads lead south and southwest, into the dense woods at the edge of town.
  
  A clammy mist hangs thickly in the air, seeping through your clothes and making you shiver.
  
  Michael hurries to catch up.
  
  > go southwest
  As you walk through, the mists part before your husband almost deferentially, quickly dissolving away into nothing.
  
  The ground begins to rise sharply as the road climbs up into the hills south of town.
  
  The treeline falls away on the north side of this northwest-northeast bend in the road, giving way to a panoramic view of the Miskaton River Valley and the grubby little town of Anchorhead nestled within it. From here you can see the paper mill almost directly to the north; the solitary lighthouse and surrounding ocean to the northeast; and the dilapidated stone church below you to the east. Winding through it all is the oily black ribbon of the Miskaton, and almost directly in the center lies the little clearing of Town Square. You can just make out the shape of the obelisk from here.
  
  Michael follows you.
  
  > go to the north-west
  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 fabled Verlac family mansion looms before you in the gloom, its dark creaking presence dominating the clearing and, somehow, even though it is not visible through the trees, the entire valley. The foreboding shadow of the Verlacs seems to enshroud all of Anchorhead from here.
  
  A typewritten notice has been attached to the front door.
  
  Michael follows you.
  
  "Well," says Michael, "this must be the place. We finally made it, honey. We're home!"
  
  > examine notice
  It's a letter from the Arkham Regional Utilities Company, explaining that, due to wiring difficulties, the electricity will not be installed until next week. No phone service, either.
  
  "Well, that's wonderful news," remarks Michael dryly, reading over your shoulder.
  
  > take it
  Taken.
  
  > Go north
  (opening the front door first)
  You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors.
  
  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.
  
  Carelessly stacked in a towering heap in the middle of the room are all your luggage and belongings, which you had sent ahead through a moving company before driving up to Massachusetts. Everything you own is boxed away and piled up in the middle of the floor. The reality of this move finally slams home as you stare at the sprawling jumble of stuff, and suddenly you feel very lost and adrift.
  
  Night has now undeniably fallen, and the house is very, very dark. There is probably just enough residual ambience to feel your way upstairs to the bedroom, but the rest of the house is a tenebrous maze of shadows, and any exploring would probably best be done in the morning.
  
  Michael follows you.
  
  Michael stretches his arms and yawns. "Well," he says, "I think I'm going to turn in. There'll be plenty of time to unpack and explore tomorrow. Good night, hon." He kisses you on the cheek. "Don't stay up too late."
  
  And with that, he goes upstairs.
  
  > drop all
  typewritten notice: Dropped.
  lantern: Dropped.
  keyring: Dropped.
  umbrella: Dropped.
  
  Michael emits a brief snore, then rolls over and sinks back into troubled sleep.
  
  > Undress
  You take off the trenchcoat.
  You take off the clothes.
  
  > drop all
  trenchcoat: Dropped.
  clothes: Dropped.
  
  > enter the bed
  Gratefully, you crawl into bed and pull the covers up to your chin.
  
  > Kiss Michael
  Gently, you kiss your husband's forehead. His skin feels dry and feverish.
  
  > take the card
  The shower suddenly stops. Quickly you palm the card, replace the wallet and arrange the pants the way you found them. A moment later Michael emerges from the bathroom, toweling his hair. "My, don't you look tempting this morning," he says, giving you a kiss. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom and gets dressed. "I think I'm going to stay home and get some writing done. I don't actually start work until tomorrow, so..." He kisses you on the cheek as he walks out into the hall. "If you go out today, see if you can find a newspaper. I want to learn as much as I can about this town."
  
  He looks at you for a moment, and his voice becomes serious. "I love you, hon. You know that, don't you? I really want us to try and be happy here."
  
  Then he turns and pads down the hall.
  
  You take a deep breath as he goes. You've never lied to Michael or hidden anything from him before, ever; now, hardly two days into your new life, you're already sneaking through his wallet.
  
  Oh yeah. You're off to a great start.
  
  > Go west
  You'll have to get off the four-poster bed first.
  
  > stand
  Reluctantly, you do so.
  
  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.
  
  Your clothes lie in an untidy pile on the floor.
  
  Your trenchcoat is here.
  
  You can also see your umbrella, a keyring (on which are two keys (a key to the house and a key to the cellar)), a lantern and a typewritten notice here.
  
  > take the shower
  You've always been more of a bath person, actually.
  
  > take the bath
  (the towel)
  You pick up the towel. It's still a little damp from Michael's shower, but otherwise it's a perfectly ordinary bath towel.
  
  > drop the towel
  Dropped.
  
  > enter the bath
  (the towel)
  That's not something you can enter.
  
  > take the towel
  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.
  
  Your clothes lie in an untidy pile on the floor.
  
  Your trenchcoat is here.
  
  You can also see your umbrella, a keyring (on which are two keys (a key to the house and a key to the cellar)), a lantern and a typewritten notice here.
  
  > wear the clothes
  (first taking the clothes)
  You put on the clothes.
  
  > Wear coat
  (first taking the trenchcoat)
  You put on the trenchcoat.
  
  > take all
  umbrella: Taken.
  keyring: Taken.
  lantern: (slipping the faculty card into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  typewritten notice: (slipping the towel into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a typewritten notice, a lantern, a keyring, on which are two keys (a key to the house and a key to the cellar) and your umbrella.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a towel, Michael's faculty card and a flask (which is closed).
  
  > go east
  (opening the sliding doors first)
  Michael is in the study, typing furiously at his laptop. As you walk in he looks up at you with a pained expression. "Can it wait?" he asks you. "I think I'm onto something really good here, and if I don't get it all out I'm going to lose it. If you don't mind, hon, I could really use the next hour or so to myself."
  
  Not wanting to disturb him, you tiptoe out, shutting the doors quietly behind you.
  
  > Dial
  (The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales)
  You'd probably have better luck if you were near a phone.
  
  You can hear Michael in the next room, typing away.
  
  > look at the dial
  The dial is calibrated from one to sixty. It is currently set to 27.
  
  You can hear Michael in the next room, typing away.
  
  > go to the 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.
  
  There is a cord dangling in mid-air here, right about level with your face.