text: [Themes: Lovecraftian, Horror, incest, surreal, child abuse, horror, self-mutilation]
  
  > Go downwards
  You descend the gloomy steps into the dank cellar.
  
  The old, flagstone walls gleam with unwholesome-smelling moisture, and the sagging timbers creak uneasily above your head. Ancient, frayed wiring festoons the ceiling like some strange species of clinging vine. Portions of the cellar extend south and east into the clammy darkness, though you could always beat a hasty retreat up the stairs to the north.
  
  One largish bundle of wires leads down to a rusty old fuse cabinet bolted to the far wall.
  
  > go west
  The old, flagstone walls gleam with unwholesome-smelling moisture, and the sagging timbers creak uneasily above your head. Ancient, frayed wiring festoons the ceiling like some strange species of clinging vine. Portions of the cellar extend south and east into the clammy darkness, though you could always beat a hasty retreat up the stairs to the north.
  
  One largish bundle of wires leads down to a rusty old fuse cabinet bolted to the far wall.
  
  You can also see a lantern (providing light) here.
  
  > Go north
  (opening the iron door first)
  The faint echo of dripping water and a musty smell of decay grow stronger as you descend.
  
  The air is clammy and frigid, the stone walls damp and streaked with mud and lichen. Pale, swollen roots push through cracks in the masonry. The smell of damp corruption is almost overpowering here, though the stairs to the south lead toward fresher air.
  
  The walls of this chamber contain dozens of wide, shallow niches; in each niche, a coffin.
  
  > examine the hole
  Which do you mean, the first flute hole, the second flute hole, the third flute hole, the fourth flute hole, the fifth flute hole, the sixth flute hole or the seventh flute hole?
  
  > go to the south
  You involuntary take a deep breath of fresh air as you leave the clammy, foetid depths of the crypt behind.
  
  Old, moss-slimed tombstones, many broken off and leaning crazily like an old man's teeth, poke up from the soft, mulchy earth. In their midst stands an ancient marble crypt, its heavy iron door nearly obscured by thick draperies of ivy. The trees press close around this quiet enclave of death, leaning together over your head as if sharing secrets. A gap in the undergrowth to the southeast reveals a narrow gravel path.
  
  > go north
  The faint echo of dripping water and a musty smell of decay grow stronger as you descend.
  
  It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing.
  
  > go south
  You involuntary take a deep breath of fresh air as you leave the clammy, foetid depths of the crypt behind.
  
  Old, moss-slimed tombstones, many broken off and leaning crazily like an old man's teeth, poke up from the soft, mulchy earth. In their midst stands an ancient marble crypt, its heavy iron door nearly obscured by thick draperies of ivy. The trees press close around this quiet enclave of death, leaning together over your head as if sharing secrets. A gap in the undergrowth to the southeast reveals a narrow gravel path.
  
  You can see a lantern here.
  
  > look at the scene
  The scene depicts a young girl kneeling down next to a closed door, whispering through the keyhole. It is evidently late at night, as the girl is wearing her nightgown, and she is surrounded by shadows. The room on the other side of the door is lit, and the light shining through the keyhole and through the crack under the door casts an eldritch, yellow glow across her face. The girl appears to be furtively slipping something underneath the door; you can't see what, exactly.
  
  It's a fairly innocent-looking scene; charming, even, in a way... that is, until you notice the mottled appendage snaking out from underneath the door to meet her hand. From her expression, the girl is either unaware of it or unperturbed by it. Either way, the effect is deeply disturbing.
  
  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.
  
  > Go south
  The east wall is occupied by a beautiful antique sofa, and a large, hand-woven rug covers the hardwood floor. The huge marble fireplace in the north wall helps complete the impression of comfort and warmth, and for a moment or two you can almost think of this place as somewhere you could live, as opposed to merely somewhere others have died. The foyer lies west, and a doorway to the left of the fireplace leads north.
  
  The portrait gazes down at you with crimson-edged malice.
  
  > examine the eyes
  They are the eyes from your dream, without question.
  
  > go northeast
  The walls are bare wooden slats, patched with crumbling plaster and spiked with bent, rusted nails. The passage, no more than two feet wide at its widest point, bends and twist at confusing angles, making it hard to tell which direction you're heading in.
  
  There is a small hole in one of the slats, about halfway up the wall.
  
  You can also see a flashlight (providing light) here.
  
  > take the torch
  (slipping the family album into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  > Go upwards
  You stumble forward blindly...
  Gratefully, you leave the clammy confines of the cellar behind.
  
  It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing.
  
  > turn on the torch
  The flashlight emits a warm yellow beam.
  
  The walls are bare wooden slats, patched with crumbling plaster and spiked with bent, rusted nails. The passage, no more than two feet wide at its widest point, bends and twist at confusing angles, making it hard to tell which direction you're heading in.
  
  You can see a typewritten notice here.
  
  > look through the hole
  (the small hole)
  Standing on tiptoe and placing your eye up to the hole, you see the wine cellar, seen from down low in a corner, near the floor.
  
  > put the torch in the hole
  (the small hole)
  That can't contain things.
  
  > go east
  This wing of the cellar is even older than the rest, with walls of piled, unmortared stone. The entire room is filled with wine racks. They cover every wall except for one spot to the west, where an exit leads back to the main cellar.
  
  All of the racks are dust-covered and empty except for one against the north wall, which contains some forty or fifty dark bottles.
  
  You can also see a lantern (providing light) here.
  
  > search the wall
  There are dozens of bottles here. You glance over the rows, but nothing jumps out at you as immediately odd.
  
  > examine the hole
  Which do you mean, the first flute hole, the second flute hole, the third flute hole, the fourth flute hole, the fifth flute hole, the sixth flute hole or the seventh flute hole?
  
  > knock on the racks
  No one answers.
  
  > Inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a flashlight (providing light), a book of matches with five matches left and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a family album, a strange metal flute, a keyring, on which are four keys (an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a gold locket, an animal's skull, your umbrella, a flask (which is closed), a bundle of soggy pages, a puzzle box (which is closed), a silver locket, a newspaper, a letter opener, Michael's faculty card, a torn journal and a towel.
  
  > read the soggy
  (first taking the bundle of soggy pages)
  The entries that are legible read as follows:
  
  ...Father came again to my bed last night... mother doesn't...
  tells me I can't... to be a good daughter. Sometimes it hurts, but Father always tells me I shouldn't cry. Father says a daughter must do her Duty if she wants to get into Heaven. And I do want to get into Heaven...
  
  [this entry dated 1957] ...my poor little William. Father calls
  him an aberration, child of the Devil, but I don't believe... locked in the attic. I go to see him whenever Father is away. I sing to him, sometimes, through the keyhole, and slip him sweets through the crack under the door... my baby is beautiful... can't let him hurt my dear baby William... to the doctor, and he has a plan... I can never... this locket, William, and I will always keep yours... to always remember my face...
  
  Nothing else is readable except for one fragmented entry near the very end of the book, the date in the corner reading February 27, 1961:
  
  ...dead, but not dead yet... will not allow him to do to Edward
  what he wanted to do to William... have learned... given him the charm against the... never take it off, dear Edward... [a page has been
  torn away] ...fear to sleep... mist at the window --
  
  And that's all.
  
  > look at the puzzle box
  It's roughly the size and shape of a cigar box, carved from some dark and oddly streaked wood that you can't identify. All six surfaces are decorated in a complex arrangement of grooves and panels, most of which are illustrated with leering, demonic faces and obscene designs. As far as you can tell, it is in fact a box, and meant to be opened; however, you see no obvious way to do so.
  
  > Shake box
  (first taking the puzzle box)
  (slipping the book of matches into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  You can hear something rattling around in there.
  
  > pull the panel
  Nothing obvious happens.
  
  > hit the panel
  The strange wood is virtually indestructible; your blows don't even scratch the finish.
  
  > Kiss box
  Try to restrain yourself.
  
  > get album
  (slipping the bundle of soggy pages into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  Taken.
  
  > look up Mordecai
  (in the newspaper)
  You discover nothing of interest in the newspaper.
  
  > look up Mordecai in the album
  The entry reads:
  
  Currently residing in Anchorhead; attended seminary at Arkham
  College in 1906; ordained in 1912; re-established the Church of Celestial Wisdom in 1920; rebuilt the Miskaton River Mill in
  1922.
  
  The photograph depicts a man who has returned to his Puritan roots: dressed in spartan black, hair clipped in an archaic tonsure, clutching a Bible in his lap as he glares stoically at the camera. This is the kind of man who would whip his children for laughing on Sunday. His eyes still carry the Verlac madness, burning with single-minded righteousness.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a family album, a puzzle box (which is closed), a flashlight (providing light) and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a bundle of soggy pages, a book of matches with five matches left, a strange metal flute, a keyring, on which are four keys (an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a gold locket, an animal's skull, your umbrella, a flask (which is closed), a silver locket, a newspaper, a letter opener, Michael's faculty card, a torn journal and a towel.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a family album, a puzzle box (which is closed), a flashlight and a broom.
  
  The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a bundle of soggy pages, a book of matches with five matches left, a strange metal flute, a keyring, on which are four keys (an old-fashioned brass key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a gold locket, an animal's skull, your umbrella, a flask (which is closed), a silver locket, a newspaper, a letter opener, Michael's faculty card, a torn journal and a towel.
  
  > hit padlock with the umbrella
  (first taking the umbrella)
  (slipping the flashlight into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  You can't get in a good blow with the umbrella; you need something heavier.
  
  > hit the padlock with the flask
  (first taking the flask)
  (slipping the puzzle box into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
  You can't get in a good blow with the flask; you need something heavier.
  
  > Go west
  The wrought-iron fence surrounds the entire churchyard. The only way out is around that little path to the southwest.
  
  > Go southwest
  The path bends northwest, around the side of the church.
  
  A low, wrought-iron fence, its spike-tipped bars bent or leaning at crazy angles, surrounds the overgrown yard of this dark, abandoned church. A gap in the fence leads back west, while a bare path beaten through the groping weeds leads around the church to the southeast.
  
  In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind.
  
  > examine bars
  The fence is about chest-high and topped with nasty iron spikes. Weeds and ground vines wind up through the bars, most of which are bent and some of which are missing altogether.
  
  > go west
  The gently winding lane makes its way through the birch woods south of town. New England foliage is famous for its splendid colors in the fall, but the oppressive weather and pervading murk have leached these trees of most of their tint. The road continues south into the increasingly dense forest, and in the other direction heads back to town. A paved walk also leads east through the trees.
  
  A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind.
  
  > play the flute
  (the strange metal flute)
  (first taking the strange metal flute)
  (slipping the family album 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.
  
  > examine the first hole
  It's a small round hole; you cover it with your finger in order to change the flute's pitch.
  
  > Yes
  debugcheapnitfol quit with exit status: 0
  
  > 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.
  
  > turn on the flashlight
  The flashlight emits a warm yellow beam.
  
  The walls are bare wooden slats, patched with crumbling plaster and spiked with bent, rusted nails. The passage, no more than two feet wide at its widest point, bends and twist at confusing angles, making it hard to tell which direction you're heading in.
  
  > look through the hole
  (the small hole)
  Standing on tiptoe and placing your eye up to the hole, you see the children's bedroom. Through some strange trick of the angle, you appear to be looking straight down at the bed from the middle of the ceiling.
  
  Suddenly Michael walks into the bedroom. He moves slowly, looking around and lightly touching things, as if visiting old memories. He walks over to the crib and spends some minutes staring down into its empty blankets, after which he sighs. Then he turns and adjusts the coverlet on the child's bed.
  
  He walks over to the vanity and picks up the jewelry box. Carefully, he opens it and, finding it empty, sets it down again with a soft curse. He looks around the room suspiciously, as if expecting to find the culprit hiding in a corner somewhere. For a moment Michael simply stands there aimlessly, compulsively rubbing his forehead; then he stalks out of the room and is gone.
  
  > look through hole
  (the small hole)
  Standing on tiptoe and placing your eye up to the hole, you see the sitting room, from a vantage high up on the wall. It occurs to you that you might well be looking directly through the eyes of the man in the portrait hanging over the fireplace.
  
  At that moment, Michael wanders into the sitting room, muttering something incoherent. He looks around blankly, lost, as if he had come into the room in order to do something only in the next instant to forget what it was. Then his eyes fall on you, and he smiles.
  
  You nearly jerk away from the spyhole, heart pounding wildly, when it suddenly occurs to you that he's not looking at you at all; he's looking at the portrait through which you are peering.
  
  Michael regards the portrait with a strange air of familiarity. He gazes into its eyes (and also, unbeknownst to him, your own eyes) the way one might appraise an old friend one hasn't seen for some time. His expression is deferential, admiring, and... something else; you can't quite put your finger on at first, but as your husband continues to gaze rhapsodically at the terrible portrait, a sickening realization strikes you.
  
  The expression is vanity. Ugly, self-absorbed vanity. Your husband is staring at this portrait the way he might preen himself in a mirror.
  
  Michael brushes his fingers back through his hair and walks out of the room, chuckling softly to himself.
  
  > look through the hole
  (the small hole)
  Standing on tiptoe and placing your eye up to the hole, you see only darkness.
  
  Just as you are about to move away from the spyhole, you hear footsteps on a stone floor. A light shines in through a doorway, and a moment later Michael skulks into the room, which you now realize is the wine cellar, seen from down low in a corner, near the floor.
  
  Halfway across the room he stops, darts a suspicious glance over his shoulder, and shines his light into every corner, as though searching for potential spies. At one point he looks straight at you, and you nearly recoil, alarmed at the sight of his crazed, red-rimmed eyes. He does not spot you, however, and in a moment he moves on.
  
  He walks over to the rack at the north end of the room, and does something with the bottles -- you can't quite see, because his back is toward you. Then there is a click and a heavy grinding sound, and the entire northern wall swings back, revealing a hidden passage!
  
  The room is filled for a moment with a wild, wretched keening, like a cold wind blowing through an empty chasm. With one last, wary look behind him, Michael steps through the portal. The light disappears, the wall swings back with another grinding sound, and then all is quiet.
  
  > look at the door
  The front door is a huge, paneled slab of black oak.
  
  > close the door
  That's already closed.
  
  > examine the bottles
  Row after row of smooth, dust-covered glass. The wine inside is dark and murky, reminding you, somewhat irrationally, of blood.
  
  There are five bottles in the third row from the bottom that have been handled recently; the fingermarks are clearly outlined on their dusty labels. One label is partially torn and the other is all but faded completely, but at a quick glance you count a Pinot Noir, a Cabernet Sauvignon, and a Cheval Blanc.
  
  > examine the torn bottle
  The label on this bottle is partially torn away. There is a raised letter "E" stamped into the bottom of the bottle.
  
  > examine faded bottle
  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 noir
  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 Cabernet
  A vintage Cabernet Sauvignon from 1734. A raised letter "H" 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.
  
  > Turn faded
  The bottle with the faded label rotates a quarter-turn clockwise, then snaps back with a loud "click".
  
  > Turn torn
  (the bottle with the torn label)
  The bottle with the torn label rotates a quarter-turn clockwise, then snaps back with a loud "click".
  
  > turn cheval
  The bottle of light Cheval Blanc rotates a quarter-turn clockwise, then snaps back with a loud "click". A rumbling grating sound suddenly fills the wine cellar, and the racks and a portion of the stone wall behind them swing back, revealing a dark passageway to the north from which blows a hot, foul wind.
  
  > Smell
  The air reeks of the infernal depths.
  
  Another blast of hot, foul-smelling air comes shrieking out of the pit.
  
  > go north
  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.
  
  > examine the pit
  The pit nearly spans the corridor from wall to wall and is at least twenty feet across, much to far to jump. The wind which occasionally gusts up from the bottomless reaches smells of decaying things, and moans like a living thing as it races past you.
  
  > look in the pit
  The bottom is lost to darkness.