text: > Look around
  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 hums a little off-key tune to herself.
  
  > 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.
  
  > go 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.
  
  Honey tugs at a strap on her top.
  
  > 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.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the boathouse
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  Tyrone shrugs. "None o' my concern, and that's the truth."
  
  > ask Tyrone about whether or not he will help us escape the death
  Tyrone grins and shakes his head. "You're just full o' questions, ain't you?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about the key
  Tyrone's eyes crinkle up in a hint of a smile. "They's a nice little motor boat in that shed. Mr. Beauregard, it's his pride and joy. That's why he keeps it locked up pretty tight. Always got the key right there in his baggy old pants pocket, an' he mostly don't loan the boat to nobody for no reason."
  
  > 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 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.
  
  "Wish I had me a seegar," Beauregard says wistfully. "Summer afternoons just ain't the same since I gave up them seegars."
  
  > go west
  Your second attempt to slip into the house is no more successful than the first. Beauregard Phelps leaps up and seizes your wrist as you step toward the screen door; he certainly moves fast for a fat old man. "Come on, now, sugar pie," he says, his voice oozing fake affection. "You got away from me before before I could tell you how nice you look with that ponytail and all. Sit down here and tell me all about where you go to school."
  
  This time you manage to break away before he can force you to sit down on the couch. Again you dash down the steps to the lawn, shuddering. It occurs to you that you've never known before what the phrase "makes my flesh crawl" meant. Now you know.
  
  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.
  
  > Go northwest
  You're standing in the weed-infested remains of a small flower-bed.
  The porch railing is directly above you, almost close enough to reach, and the lawn is back to the east. Only a few feet away, on the porch, Beauregard Phelps is sitting on the couch gazing out across the lawn, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you're skulking around down here.
  
  > hit the nest with the shovel
  The wasp nest is too far away.
  
  > look at Phelps
  He's sitting on the couch on the porch, chewing a toothpick as he gazes out across the lawn. He doesn't seem to have noticed you skulking around down here.
  
  > look under porch
  The porch is too far away.
  
  > look at the weeds
  The weeds are green and spiky. Some of them have little flowers, but there's nothing here that even vaguely resembles the flowers you'd find in a florist's shop back home.
  
  > look at the railing
  The railing looks pretty flimsy.
  
  > climb the railing
  The railing looks quite flimsy. It would probably pull loose.
  
  > Dig
  What do you want to dig in?
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a wooden bucket, a burlap sack (which contains an old shovel and a sequined jacket), a flashlight, the key to Cabin One, and a pill bottle. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > take the shovel
  (first putting the pill bottle in the burlap sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > stand
  You're already standing.
  
  > Go southeast
  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.
  
  > Go north
  A narrow, uneven ribbon of blacktop runs east and west at this spot, and a walk leads off through some tall bushes to the south. Beyond the bushes can be glimpsed the roof of the main house. On the north side of the road is a ditch choked with bramble bushes.
  
  > examine the ditch
  The ditch is choked with bramble bushes. It runs along the north side of the road.
  
  > go to the east
  To the east, the road surface sinks beneath the brackish, unhealthy-looking waters of a bayou. There's an impenetrable thicket of bramble bushes to the north and an impenetrable hedge to the south. The only way you can go is to turn back to the west.
  
  > examine the bayou
  The water of the swamp is greenish and unhealthy-looking. It smells putrid, and disgusting things are floating in it.
  
  > go to the west
  A narrow, bumpy ribbon of blacktop runs east and west at this spot. To the south, a gravel driveway leads off through some tall bushes. Standing - or rather, leaning - next to the driveway is a sign that says, "Eternal Springs." The north side of the road is impassable due to a nasty-looking thicket of berry bushes.
  
  > look at the berry
  The bushes bristle with brambles. It's - well, it's a briar patch, basically.
  
  > examine the sign
  The sign is sagging sideways at a drunken angle, and looks as if it's about to fall over sideways. In florid pink letters the sign proclaims that the name of the establishment is "Eternal Springs." An earlier layer seems to have been painted over, but thanks to the irregularities in the surface (which are many) and the flaking away of the top layer (which is considerable), you're able to trace out the former name of the motel, which seems to have been "Bye Bayou."
  
  > go to the west
  The narrow, potholed ribbon of blacktop runs east and west between thorny thickets to the north and south.
  
  A black metal barrel is standing on the shoulder of the road.
  
  > look at the barrel
  The barrel is about three feet tall, and black, and smells strongly of fresh road tar. It's covered by a tight-fitting metal lid.
  
  > Open barrel
  You try to pry up the lid with your bare fingers, but it's stuck. Possibly a tool of some sort would do the job.
  
  > Go west
  The narrow, potholed ribbon of blacktop runs east and west between thorny thickets to the north and south. A narrow gap in the shrubbery to the south might be wide enough for you to squeeze through.
  
  There's a dead animal lying at the edge of the blacktop. It looks like what's left of a possum.
  
  > look at the possum
  The dead possum looks as if it was run over. Maybe a couple of days ago. Big black flies are circling around it. It's one of the most disgusting things you've ever seen in your life.
  
  > look at the flies
  Several big black flies are circling around the possum carcass. A few of them have landed. Doubtless they're enjoying the feast.
  
  > go west
  The east/west road passes close by the front gate of a trashy-looking farm. Two large, smirking farm boys are lounging by the gate, chewing lengths of grass and looking at you in a keen and unhealthy way.
  
  > examine the boys
  The boys are leering at you. They're wearing ripped jeans and filthy sneakers. The larger one looks about seventeen, the other maybe fifteen, and they look as if they're probably brothers. The larger boy is more muscular, and his lip curls with a knowing sneer. The smaller boy is dirtier (though not by much) and keeps looking around in a sneaky way, as if he's getting ready to grab you when no one is watching. They're not your type at all. In fact, you're a little scared of them.
  
  "You wanna see what we got out back o' the barn?" the smaller boy says. "Bet you never seen nothin' like it."
  
  > ask the boys about the eternal Springs
  "Uhh, hello," you venture hesitantly.
  
  "Hello, yourself," says the larger boy, gazing directly at you. Then he turns to the other boy. "She's a cute one, ain't she?"
  
  "What a dump that is," says the larger boy. "You stayin' there? I almost feel sorry for you."
  
  "Go ahead," the larger boy says to the smaller one. "Pull her pony tail. I double-dog-dare you!"
  
  > ask the boys about the possum
  "I'll tell ya all about it if you give me a kiss," the smaller, dirtier boy says.
  
  "C'mon, gimme a kiss," the smaller boy says. He puckers up, squinches his eyes shut, and thrusts his face forward. You want to laugh, but that might provoke them.
  
  > go to the east
  "Gotta go," you say with a cheerful wave.
  
  "C'n we watch?" the smaller boy says brightly. The larger one explodes in a roar of laughter. As you walk away, you hear the boys snickering about something.
  
  The narrow, potholed ribbon of blacktop runs east and west between thorny thickets to the north and south. A narrow gap in the shrubbery to the south might be wide enough for you to squeeze through.
  
  There's a dead animal lying at the edge of the blacktop. It looks like what's left of a possum.
  
  > go to the south
  You slip into the gap in the hedge, and find yourself angled in a twisty maze of thorny bramble-bushes. For a couple of minutes you stumble around, trying to avoid getting stuck by the razor-sharp thorns. Eventually you find your way back to the road, shaken by the ordeal but not too badly scratched up.
  
  > look at the gap
  The gap is narrow, and the bushes within seem to be covered with nasty-looking thorns.
  
  > wear the jacket
  (first putting the old shovel in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the sequined jacket from the burlap sack)
  You'd look far too conspicuous sashaying around in the sequined jacket. Anyway, it's not your style.
  
  > wear the jacket
  You'd look far too conspicuous sashaying around in the sequined jacket. Anyway, it's not your style.
  
  > Go south
  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.
  
  A large yellow dog is chained up in front of the cellar doors, eyeing you in an unfriendly manner.
  
  > look at dog
  The dog is large, muscular, and alert-looking. He's sort of yellow, and has long floppy ears and a droopy muzzle. His collar is attached by a short leash to a ring mounted on the wall beside the cellar doors.
  
  > examine the collar
  The dog's collar is worn leather, but thick. The dog's leash is attached to the collar.
  
  > take the possum
  You reach out gingerly toward the rotting corpse, but try as you might, you can't quite bring yourself to touch it. Maybe if there weren't quite so many flies....
  
  > take the possum with the shovel
  (first taking the old shovel from the burlap sack)
  You pick up the dead possum with the old shovel.
  
  > open the bottle
  (first putting the flashlight in the burlap sack to make room, then taking the pill bottle from the burlap sack)
  Opening the pill bottle reveals a little white pill.
  
  > give the possum to the dog
  You toss the dead possum to the dog. The dog sniffs at the dead possum curiously, decides it's interesting, and hunkers down to chew on it. But that's not enough fun: Next he grips it in his teeth and shakes it vigorously, as if punishing it. After playing with the possum for a minute or so, he gazes up at you with something vaguely resembling affection. It seems you've made a new friend.
  
  > put the pill in the bottle
  Done.
  
  The dog pants a little, his long red tongue lolling out.
  
  > Pet dog
  You approach the dog timidly and extend your hand. He allows his head to be patted.
  
  The dog paws at the dirt.
  
  > Dig
  What do you want to dig in?
  
  > Go east
  (first trying to open the cellar doors)
  The dog gets between you and the door, panting in a friendly way but also blocking the path. It's no use - he's been well trained to keep anyone from sneaking into the cellar.
  
  The dog strains at the leash.
  
  > untie the leash
  You unclip the leash, leaving the dog free to roam. He seems disinclined to do so, however. He just sits there in front of the cellar doors, his tongue lolling out, staring at you.
  
  The dog rolls over in the gravel.
  
  > look at the possum
  The dead possum looks as if it was run over. And the dog's tender loving care has pretty much reduced it to tatters. Big black flies are circling around it. It's one of the most disgusting things you've ever seen in your life.
  
  The dog sits on his haunches and scratches at a flea.
  
  > give the pill to the dog
  The dog ignores you in favor of scratching at a flea.
  
  The dog rolls over in the gravel.
  
  > 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.
  
  > take the possum
  You reach out gingerly toward the rotting corpse, but try as you might, you can't quite bring yourself to touch it. Maybe if there weren't quite so many flies....
  
  The dog strains at the leash.
  
  > take possum with the shovel
  The dead possum has served its last, best purpose, and pretty much been torn up by the dog in the process. Trying to do anything else with it would be gruesome, gross, and pointless.
  
  > untie the leash
  You unclip the leash, leaving the dog free to roam. He seems disinclined to do so, however. He just sits there in front of the cellar doors, his tongue lolling out, staring at you.
  
  The dog rolls over in the gravel.
  
  > take the leash
  You consider walking around with the dog on a leash, but that would only advertise the fact that he's no longer doing his job guarding the cellar. That probably isn't a good thing to have anybody find out.
  
  The dog paws at the dirt.
  
  > tie the leash
  You cannot fasten the dog's leash.
  
  The dog sits on his haunches and scratches at a flea.
  
  > tie the leash to the cellar
  You cannot attach that to anything.
  
  The dog pants a little, his long red tongue lolling out.
  
  > Enter
  What do you want to enter?
  
  > House
  (first trying to open the cellar doors)
  The dog gets between you and the door, panting in a friendly way but also blocking the path. It's no use - he's been well trained to keep anyone from sneaking into the cellar.
  
  The dog rolls over in the gravel.
  
  > 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.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the dog
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  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.
  
  > ask Tyrone about the rabbits
  "Rabbits? Ole Bailey, he like chasin' rabbits. Never catch nothin', but he's always game to try. You want to make him crazy, tell him about the rabbits while he's chained up. He knows the word right enough, he'll go crazy whinin' and jumpin'."
  
  > Go north
  (first trying to open the back door)
  The back door seems to be locked.
  
  > go to the northwest
  Tyrone shrugs and goes back to work on the van.
  
  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.
  
  A large yellow dog is sitting in front of the cellar doors, blinking amiably at you.
  
  > ask dog about the rabbits
  The dog perks up his ears, but seems to have no idea what you're saying.
  
  The dog sits on his haunches and scratches at a flea.
  
  > tell the dog about the rabbits
  You lean forward conspiratorially. "Doggie, nice doggie - I saw some nice rabbits down in the meadow. Rabbits! Rabbits!" The dog's eyes light up. He dashes away, his duty forgotten, leaving the cellar doors unguarded.
  
  > Go east
  (first opening the cellar doors)
  The leaves of the door fall back to left and right with a bang.
  
  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 workbench
  The workbench is strongly but crudely built. Above it is a rack where tools may once have been neatly hung, but the tools are long gone. A large vise with a crank is mounted on one front corner of the workbench.
  
  > examine the vise
  The vise consists of two square metal plates mounted parallel to one another. The plates are close to an inch thick, and are connected by a threaded shaft. A crank protrudes from the outer surface of the front plate. The vise is closed.
  
  > Time
  You aren't wearing a wristwatch. Usually you'd keep track of time by glancing at your cell phone, but you seem to have misplaced that today. At a guess, it's about 3:00.
  
  > open vise
  You turn the crank, and the jaws of the vise separate.
  
  > look in the vise
  The vise seems to be empty.
  
  > examine the flashlight
  The flashlight is small and red. The lens is cracked. There's a switch on the top and a battery compartment on the underside.
  
  > turn on the flashlight
  You flip the switch, and the flashlight emits a feeble glow.
  
  > go east
  This side of the cellar is cluttered with large, dusty, cobwebbed objects, which are draped with soiled drop cloths. Most likely it's old furniture, but in the fitful light the clutter is deeply shadowed and rather ominous-looking. A large shipping trunk squats prominently at the front of the jumble of clutter. Though it's difficult to make out in the pervading gloom, there appears to be an even darker patch in the south wall, possibly the opening of a tunnel. The door to the better lit side of the cellar is to the west.
  
  > go to the east
  It's pitch black.
  
  > go west
  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.
  
  > open the trunk
  The old trunk seems to be locked.
  
  > Go south
  This low, earthy-smelling tunnel is no more than four feet high. The dirt floor is uneven, and the ceiling seems to be held up by a few crooked, widely spaced beams. The tunnel runs from north to south.
  
  > go south
  This earth-walled chamber is so low you can't stand up straight. There's a square trapdoor in the ceiling; it's closed. A dark tunnel extends away to the north.
  
  > open the trapdoor
  You're able to push the trapdoor up only a couple of inches before it hits an obstruction.
  
  > look through trapdoor
  (first trying to open the trapdoor)
  You're able to push the trapdoor up only a couple of inches before it hits an obstruction.
  
  > Xf10
  Failed: the position could not be restored.
  
  > Go upward
  This flimsy wooden platform overlooks the cellar. Stairs lead downward to the west, and there's a door to the east.
  
  > Go east
  (first trying to open the door)
  The door seems to be locked.
  
  > look at the door
  The door is narrow and much scuffed. It's closed.