text: > look around
  A tiny space inside the tip of the church's steeple, barely five feet across, the walls tapering to only two feet across some twelve feet above your head. There is a narrow window, but it seems to have been painted black at some point. The only exit seems to be the ladder from which you just emerged.
  
  > open the tome
  The book is already open.
  
  > Close tome
  Strange; the spine won't bend. The book is rigid as a board and will not close.
  
  > turn off flashlight
  You'd have to let go of the rope to do that.
  
  > jump
  You take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, say a quick prayer... and let go of the rope.
  
  The heart-stopping plunge lasts only a second or two before you hit shockingly cold water. Your flashlight goes out and blackness envelopes you. Water rushes into your mouth and nose; the stone bottom slams into your side and nearly knocks the wind out of you... and then you find your feet, and your head breaks the surface. Blindly, you thrash about until you find higher ground, and you crawl, choking and sputtering, feeling cold brick beneath your fingers.
  
  It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing.
  
  > turn on the flashlight
  The flashlight must not be quite as waterproof as you originally thought; the beam flickers unsteadily, and you have to bang it against the palm of your hand a couple of times to get it to work.
  
  The walls of this long, rectangular chamber are made of crumbling brick, not concrete; most likely it was built at some earlier period than the rest of the tunnels. The ceiling is lost in darkness above you, but from the sounds of the echoes it must be pretty high. Water flowing in from the northwestern tunnel has pooled in a depression sunk into the limestone floor, becoming quite deep near the far end.
  
  The shattered wreckage of the church stairway lies half submerged in the water-filled depression. You're lucky to have missed it in your fall.
  
  You can also see a hooded robe and a broom here.
  
  > get all
  hooded robe: Taken.
  broom: Taken.
  
  > examine stairway
  Rusty nails and jagged, broken boards jut from the water like teeth. You're very lucky you weren't impaled when you fell.
  
  The flashlight beam flickers uncertainly for a moment, then comes back a bit weaker than before.
  
  > Go northwest
  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 north
  This looks to be an older part of the sewer system that has fallen into disrepair. Many of the pipes here have crumbled and are filled with debris.
  
  Set in the low ceiling is an old iron hatch.
  
  The flashlight beam flickers uncertainly for a moment, then comes back a bit weaker than before.
  
  > hit the hinges with the opener
  (first taking the letter opener)
  Violence isn't the answer to this one.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a letter opener, a broom and a hooded robe.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a tattered drawing, a teddy bear, a broken padlock, a small steel key, a meat hook, a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a silver locket, a gold locket, a flashlight (providing light), a keyring, on which are five keys (a small copper key, an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), an animal's skull, Michael's faculty card, a bundle of soggy pages, a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a flask (which is closed), a 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.
  
  > look at the rust
  (the broken padlock)
  It's little more than a twisted hunk of torn metal. You'd hardly even guess it was ever used as a padlock.
  
  > Close hatch
  That's already closed.
  
  It is now pitch dark in here!
  
  > Shake flashlight
  (first taking the flashlight)
  You jiggle the flashlight a bit and slap it against your palm, but it doesn't seem to improve the situation much.
  
  > turn on the flashlight
  You flip the switch on and off uselessly. The water must have finally done your poor flashlight in.
  
  > open the flashlight
  There's really no point in taking the batteries out; you don't have any spares anyway.
  
  > go south
  You stumble forward blindly...
  
  It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing.
  
  > go north
  You stumble forward in the dark, smacking your head painfully against a wall.
  
  > get the lantern
  (slipping the flashlight into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  > Light match
  One of the matches starts to burn.
  
  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.
  
  > Go north
  (opening the small metal door first)
  
  The ponderous stones of Whateley Bridge arch overhead, casting this little concrete ledge into deep shadow. At your feet, the dark waters lap quietly against the stones with a hollow, subterranean sound. Stone steps to the southeast lead back up to street level.
  
  A small metal door, blotchy with rust, is set into the south bank of the river, underneath the bridge.
  
  Ouch! You drop the match as it burns down to your fingers.
  
  > go south
  You walk a bit farther down the road, but it doesn't seem to lead anywhere, and the shadows grow thicker the farther down you go. After a while you turn back, unable to suppress a shiver.
  
  > Go west
  The tangled undergrowth has been beaten down in a path leading roughly from the east to the southwest. Shrubs and grass have been flattened and pushed aside, vines torn down, and small trees bent or even snapped in half, as though something heavy with huge, flat feet had simply trampled its way through.
  
  A gust of wind blows your hair into your face.
  
  > go to the south-west
  The decayed remains of an old slaughterhouse stand here, now little more than a shell of crumbling brick and gaping holes, surrounded by a clearing of yellow, sickly grass. A path leads northeast, back toward the road; to the west, a gaping hole that might once have been a doorway leads into the rotting building.
  
  > go north
  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 gust of wind blows your hair into your face.
  
  > listen
  You hear only silence, and your own breathing.
  
  > look up jeffrey
  (in the archives)
  Jeffrey Greer: born August 4, 1989.
  
  > look up jeffrey
  (in the archives)
  The boy isn't dead yet; the fear is that he might be by the time anyone finds him.
  
  > Yell
  Come now; you're not that frightened.
  
  In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind.
  
  > play the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  (first taking the strange metal flute)
  (slipping the book of matches 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.
  
  > put the flute in the coat
  (the strange metal flute in the trenchcoat)
  You slip the strange metal flute into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
  
  > call the mob
  You'd probably have better luck if you were near a phone.
  
  > put the hook in the iron ring
  (first taking the meat hook)
  The iron ring is high out of your reach.
  
  > put the hook in the coat
  You slip the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
  
  > examine the group
  The townsfolk have gathered in a small crowd on Whateley Bridge. Word of your snooping must have gotten around quickly; these fellows are obviously not taking any chances on the possibility of you escaping from the church, and are keeping a sharp lookout.
  
  > Wave coat
  You look ridiculous waving the trenchcoat.
  
  > go north
  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.
  
  A group of wary-looking townsfolk has gathered, keeping a watchful eye on the streets leading to and from the bridge.
  
  The townsfolk turn toward you as you walk blithely up to them.
  
  Suddenly, someone's finger jabs out at you. "It's the woman!" He shouts. "Get her!!"
  
  > jump off the Bridge
  Throwing caution to the wind, you clamber up onto the parapet and leap off into space. A moment later you are plunged chest-deep into shockingly cold water. The current is not strong, however, and you quickly thrash your way over to a small ledge underneath the bridge, having suffered little worse than a ruined pair of slacks.
  
  Above you, you can hear shouts from the villagers as they peer over the sides of the bridge. It's obvious they think you must been taken by the current and don't realize that you're hiding right beneath them. It looks like you've bought yourself a little time.
  
  The ponderous stones of Whateley Bridge arch overhead, casting this little concrete ledge into deep shadow. At your feet, the dark waters lap quietly against the stones with a hollow, subterranean sound. Stone steps to the southeast lead back up to street level.
  
  A small metal door, blotchy with rust, is set into the south bank of the river, underneath the bridge.
  
  > listen
  The water laps quietly against the stones with a hollow, subterranean sound.
  
  > pull the hood
  Nothing obvious happens.
  
  The cold wind cuts through your clothes, chilling you to the bone.
  
  > About yourself
  The voluminous robe covers you from head to foot. As long as no one looks too closely under the hood, it makes a pretty effective disguise.
  
  > go north
  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.
  
  A group of wary-looking townsfolk has gathered, keeping a watchful eye on the streets leading to and from the bridge.
  There is no time to run. Heavy boots on the cobblestones; hands lunging toward you -- they are everywhere, grabbing you from every side, immobilizing you. Someone's huge, calloused paw closes around your windpipe and starts to squeeze. Just before you black out, you can feel yourself being lifted off your feet...
  
  > ask Chuck about the key
  Which do you mean, the keys, the small copper key or the large cell key?
  
  > ask Chuck about the large key
  "You know what this thing is hanging off my belt?" gloats the orderly, patting the key proudly. "I'll tell you what it is: it's fuckin' responsibility, that's what it is. And don't you touch it."
  
  > Ialdabaoloth
  The blasphemous syllables crawl loathsomely from your lips. The word lingers in the air like a cyst -- just hearing the sound of it makes you nauseous. Nature itself seems to draw back from the sound, as though horrified by your very voice.
  
  The orderly stares at you, dumbfounded. "Man," he breathes, "that was some seriously fucked up shit."
  
  > get the large 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."