text: > Look around
  The room is dark, the air thick with the smell of incense, burning spices, and just a hint of dog wind. The door back to the hall is to your south.
  
  Madame Ping Ping is sprawled across the table, unconscious.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  Barnaby Mooch the Magnificent Pooch
  a banana
  a party blower
  a pair of spook-spotting cheaters (being worn)
  an art theory textbook
  a stinky stocking
  your best set of glad rags (being worn)
  
  > read the art theory textbook
  Chapter 1: The proper subject.
  
  (There's a lovely color painting of a bowl of fruit on this page.)
  
  No choice you make as an artist is as important as choosing the correct subject. Let the amateur scribblers, the mere dilettantes, content themselves with great battles and last suppers, with windy moors and noble beasts and shapeless bursts of color. You are a Real Artist, and for a Real Artist there is but one subject: The Container of Fruit.
  
  Find the most beautiful container you can. Fill it with at least
  three kinds of fruit. Then simply place it on any convenient table or pedestal in front of you. If you've chosen the right vessel, then inspiration will flow like milk from a pent-up Holstein. Then, and only then, will you know you are a Real Artist.
  
  > Blow blower
  You pop it in your mouth and blow. The paper part uncoils with surprising force and a nice loud "wheeeeee!" noise. You feel a little more festive.
  
  > go to the east
  Second Floor Corridor, East End
  You're standing at the eastern end of a long hall that runs the length of the Grand Poseidon's second floor. Doors to the north and south lead to luxury suites, and the hallway continues to the west.
  
  A laundry cart trundles slowly along the edge of the hallway, brass wheels squeaking. You can see a mysterious glow coming from the
  cart. Maybe if you took a closer look...
  
  > Blow blower
  You fish out the party blower, work your hand far enough into the room to pop it into your mouth, and blow. The paper roll is just long enough to smack the candy-colored button dead center, depressing it and shutting off the bomb.
  
  A ghost bubbles out of the bomb, sloshes around in the tiny room, and pours out the window into the other, bigger Arctic Suite.
  
  > Go outside
  You crawl back out through the tiny front doors in the Arctic Suite.
  
  This room doesn't look like it's been used in years. Everything's covered in a thick coat of dust-the Benzedrine bottles scattered on the floor, the drafting table shoved in the corner, and most especially the enormous scale model of the Poseidon Hotel which dominates the room.
  
  A smug-looking ghost floats in midair.
  
  A typewritten note is affixed to the model.
  
  > Drink ghost
  You smack your lips against the ectoplasmic creep and take a good long slurp. Pretty soon the ghost has been sent to that big old bloodstream in the sky. Too bad these little things don't have sheets, or you'd have three of 'em to be to the wind right now.
  
  > go south
  You can barely see this suite beneath the dropcloth on the floor and the host of half-finished canvases leaning against every wall. The second floor hallway is to the north.
  
  Crispin Fourment slouches at an easel, staring at a blank canvas with a tortured expression on his face. He appears to be possessed by
  one of the hotel ghosts!
  
  A smallish display table sits a few feet from the easel. On it is an uninspiring bowl.
  
  > put the banana in the bowl
  You put the banana into the uninspiring bowl.
  
  > talk to Crispin
  He sighs heavily.
  
  1) "Why not just paint what you like?"
  2) "What kind of container would inspire you?"
  3) "Well, good luck, Crispin."
  
  > 3
  ["Well, good luck, Crispin."]
  
  Crispin sighs and goes back to staring at the canvas.
  
  You can barely see this suite beneath the dropcloth on the floor and the host of half-finished canvases leaning against every wall. The second floor hallway is to the north.
  
  Crispin Fourment slouches at an easel, staring at a blank canvas with a tortured expression on his face. He appears to be possessed by
  one of the hotel ghosts!
  
  A smallish display table sits a few feet from the easel. On it is an uninspiring bowl.
  
  > look at the cart
  The cart, already piled high, prowls as if looking for more dirty laundry to add to its haul. You wish you could show this to the old lady. She's always claiming laundry doesn't do itself. Your spook-spotting cheaters reveal the source of the mysterious movement - this thing is possessed! Now if only you can find a way to satisfy this laundry cart's unfinished business...
  
  > get the cart
  The laundry cart really wants to stay where it is!
  
  > put stocking in laundry
  The cart accepts the repulsive thing with ecstasy. Taking such a wretched little rag to be washed must be a laundry cart's dream. With a lurch, it overturns, spilling undergarments, towels, and a fancy bellhop's uniform out onto the floor...and then a  ghost erupts from the piles of laundry!
  
  > Drink ghost
  You're starting to get the hang of this! The ghost goes down the hatch faster than a sailor who just heard Clara Bow was berthed in his bunk, and with four drinks in you, you're starting to feel nicely haunted.
  
  > take the uniform
  Taken.
  
  > wear it
  You really oughta take off the glad rags before putting anything else on.
  
  > go south
  The inside of a dimly-lit storage closet, unfurnished except for an uncomfortable-looking cot pushed into the corner. One whole wall is covered with newspaper clippings, and a tower of dime novels teeters next to the cot. There's a door to the north.
  
  > remove the glad
  You shuck off your dress, hat, and pearls.
  
  > wear the uniform
  You shrug on the uniform and do up the buttons. Anyone who sees you would take you for an (unusually good-looking) hotel employee.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a bellhop's uniform (being worn)
  Barnaby Mooch the Magnificent Pooch
  a party blower
  a pair of spook-spotting cheaters (being worn)
  an art theory textbook
  your best set of glad rags
  
  > go to the south
  Cleverly disguised as the Grand Poseidon's most beautiful bellhop, you hop over the counter and into an employees-only area.
  
  Oof, this room's a real step down in the fanciness department. Looks like everyone cleared out after the raid, leaving nothing but a room full of desks and paperwork. The lobby is to the north. To the east is the door to the hotel's high security vault.
  
  There's an apple sitting on one of the desks.
  
  > examine the desks
  They're just regular old desks, made out of cheap wood and without a single decorative fish or ornately carved siren in sight. They don't even have drawers. Donnie Cantaloupe really cheaped out on this place compared to the stuff the guests see.
  
  > examine paperwork
  It's mostly long lists of people who've checked in and checked out of the hotel at various times. Looks like Mr. and Mrs. John Smith are frequent guests.
  
  > examine the apple
  It's all bright and shiny. The desk musta belonged to a real apple polisher.
  
  > go east
  This is the hotel's vault, where guests can drop off their high-priced losables so they can debauch in peace. Nobody is at the teller's window, but the vault door has a deposit slot, for after-hours drop-offs. You can see a ghostly outline moving around beyond the vault door!
  
  > examine the door
  An extremely heavy and secure metal door. You can't see any way to open it, but there's a deposit slot in it for dropping off valuables.
  
  > put the dog in the slot
  Barnaby just fits through the slot, and wriggles out of your arms with a determined bark. Can Barnaby Mooch the Magificent Pooch escape from the Vault of Doom? Will he do it, folks?
  
  A minute passes...
  
  Two minutes....
  
  When the tension is almost more than you can bear, there's a "kerchunk", and the vault door swings open. There, amid a fanfare of trumpets, stands Barnaby! He takes a bow, trots forward and thoughtfully kicks the door shut behind him - but not before the vault's ghost has slithered out as well.
  
  > Drink ghost
  Y'know, these things could really use a little garnish. An olive or something. But there's nothing for it now, so you deploy your drinker and soon the ghost is nothing more than a hiccup and a grin.
  
  > Go west
  Oof, this room's a real step down in the fanciness department. Looks like everyone cleared out after the raid, leaving nothing but a room full of desks and paperwork. The lobby is to the north. To the east is the door to the hotel's high security vault.
  
  > examine the napkins
  They're shaped like marine life.
  
  > go to the east
  Cleverly disguised as the Grand Poseidon's most beautiful bellhop, you slip through the swinging doors and into an employees-only area.
  
  It looks a lot like other kitchens, probably; you make it a point to spend as little time in them as possible. There's a big industrial refrigerator and lots of counters. Swinging double doors to the west lead back to the lounge.
  
  > examine the refrigerator
  This refrigerator, much like the old lady that time she chaperoned your senior year homecoming dance, is sitting in the corner, humming quietly and radiating bitter cold. The refrigerator is closed.
  
  > open it
  You swing the heavy door open and get a blast of arctic air in the face.
  A lone orange rests on the top shelf.
  
  > take the orange
  Taken.
  
  > close the refrigerator
  You swing the heavy door closed.
  
  > 3
  ["Seeya, Kipper."]
  
  "Seeya, Miss Greene!"
  
  The sumptuous entrance lobby of the Grand Poseidon Hotel. Aquamarine lights play over the leather couches and rich mahogany paneling, making the whole room look like it's underwater. Outside to the west, you can see the hustle and bustle of a Saturday night in downtown Seattle.
  
  In the center of the room is an enormous fish tank. To the north is the Neptune Lounge, to the south, past the front desk, is the hotel office, and a hallway leads east. A crystal column houses the elevator.
  
  > Go east
  Second Floor Corridor, East End
  You're standing at the eastern end of a long hall that runs the length of the Grand Poseidon's second floor. Doors to the north and south lead to luxury suites, and the hallway continues to the west.
  
  You can see an overturned cart here.
  
  > go south
  You can barely see this suite beneath the dropcloth on the floor and the host of half-finished canvases leaning against every wall. The second floor hallway is to the north.
  
  Crispin Fourment slouches at an easel, staring at a blank canvas with a tortured expression on his face. He appears to be possessed by
  one of the hotel ghosts!
  
  A smallish display table sits a few feet from the easel. On it is an uninspiring bowl.
  
  > put the apple and the orange in the bowl
  apple: Done.
  orange: Done.
  
  > talk to Crispin
  He sighs heavily.
  
  1) "Why not just paint what you like?"
  2) "What kind of container would inspire you?"
  3) "Well, good luck, Crispin."
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a bellhop's uniform (being worn)
  a party blower
  a pair of spook-spotting cheaters (being worn)
  an art theory textbook
  your best set of glad rags
  
  > take the pool
  It's too old and hard to scoop up.
  
  > get on the table
  You plop your posterior on the small table. Crispin sighs. (A real sigher, this one.) "If only I could paint you," he says. "But
  the rules are clear! It's a container of fruit, or nothing!"
  
  > Apple and banana
  orange: Taken.
  apple: Taken.
  banana: Taken.
  
  > eat the apple
  Crunch! So long, apple!
  
  > eat the orange
  You peel and eat the orange. It's round, sweet, and a little tart, which are fine things for an orange, or anyone, to be. Yum!
  
  > eat banana
  You swallow the banana in a few bites. Yum!
  
  > get on the table
  You plop your posterior on the small table. Crispin sighs. (A real sigher, this one.) "If only I could paint you," he says. "But
  the rules are clear! It's a container of fruit, or noth -
  
  "So who's not a container of fruit? I've eaten a banana, an orange, and an apple. I'm a regular fruit salad."
  
  "You mean - you - really?" Crispin brightens. "Then I can paint you! I can paint you! Oh, this is wonderful. Hold this! I have to capture you, now!" As Crispin picks up his paint brush, the ghostly presence erupts from his body. Now's your chance to get rid of -
  
  "Up-bup-bup! Let's keep that pose."
  
  Two hours later, Crispin finishes the painting and leaves, a tune on his lips.
  
  > Drink ghost
  Slurp! Now you've got an even half-dozen of these little things gurgling around down there. You're starting to feel like a slightly plastered egg carton.
  
  > open the locker
  The locker pulses under your hands, and you feel the seal cracking. You can enter and face what lies inside now, or you can go back into the hotel and search for more ghosts.
  
  1) I'm done with this place! Let's guzzle us a ghost!
  2) Nah, I'm not ready yet.
  
  > 1
  [I'm done with this place! Let's guzzle us a ghost!]
  
  Nothin'. Just an empty locker. What a royal platter of the phonus balonus!
  
  Until you realize that the musty room is somehow brand new, the tiles less cracked, the lockers gleaming. It's like you've stepped back into the past, like in that Christmas book, except instead of watching some crusty old bluenose waste his childhood working, you're seeing what happened here, in this very room, some eight years ago.
  
  Donnie Cantaloupes swaggers in, dressed in a bathing suit, a towel around his neck. He's still huge, but in a different order, with more of his bulk filed under "M" for muscles, or maybe "M" for "Mamma mia, what a dish!" It's enough to make you want to run right out of here, find your younger self, and tell her to ditch the hopscotch a couple of years early.
  
  1) Try to attract his attention.
  2) Duck behind the lockers.
  
  > 2
  [Duck behind the lockers.]
  
  You dart behind the lockers, a little too late to avoid him seeing you if he could, but apparently he can't. It's either that or he's ignoring you, and since you're you, how likely is that? He
  does turn around when another woman enters the room.
  
  1) Who's the dame?
  
  > 1
  [Who's the dame?]
  
  She bears more than a passing resemblance to Agent Byrd - a tall, severe-looking brunette in businesslike tweed. This woman is older, though, with a sharp chin and a streak of gray in her hair. She storms up to Donnie, waving a finger in his face. "Don't think you can run away from me, Mister Cantaloupes!"
  
  "Didn't I tell ya to back off, ya dizzy harpy?" Donnie roars back.
  
  "One of your goons did mention it, yes," the woman says. "I believe his exact words were "one of these days, they'll find you floating face down in the Sound." I told him that was an ugly threat, and he said, and I quote, "It could be uglier. They could find you floating face up."
  
  Donnie chuckles.
  
  "I fail to see what's so funny, Mr. Cantaloupes. What would you friends at City Hall say if they knew you consorted with such ruffians?"
  
  Donnie crosses his arms. "And what would your fancy-schmancy Temperance ladies say if they knew Mildred Waverly hung around in men's changing rooms?"
  
  Waverly grins. "I made very sure that nobody saw me come in here, Mr. Cantaloupes. You can't hide behind your goons anymore. It's just you and me."
  
  "Just you and me, huh?" Donnie says, casually approaching. She looks so much smaller than he does, and yet she stands straight and proud. "No witnesses?" And that's when he lunges for her.
  
  "No witnesses?" And that's when he lunges for her.
  
  It's nearly a minute before Waverly finally breaks the kiss to shoot a nervous look around the room. "You're quite sure we're really alone?"
  
  "Isn't it a little late to be worried about that? Besides, didn't I tell you I gave them the night off?" Donnie says, stroking her hair."
  
  "I thought you meant you didn't - oh, I'm sorry, it's just impossible, the way you talk. Poor Rosie used to have the same problem, but we fixed it years ago, thank goodness."
  
  "Didn't I explain I can get around it by putting everything in the form of a question?"
  
  "Like a stutterer learning to sing his words instead of saying them, yes, I understand. It's just confusing, that's all." She
  gives him a teasing grin. "Sometimes I think things would had been easier if I'd fallen for the other doorman. The one who always tells the truth."
  
  "And what fun would that be?"
  
  "Not much," Waverly admits. "And we wouldn't have Rosie."
  
  "Not much," Waverly admits. "And we wouldn't have Rosie."
  
  "How is Rosie, anyway?" Donnie says. "Got to be getting pretty big by now, isn't she?"
  
  "Nearly fifteen, and no, thank goodness, given that Walter is five foot two and weighs less than I do we're lucky she didn't end up with your body structure."
  
  "Any girl would be lucky not to end up with my body structure, don't you think?"
  
  "Now, that's not what I meant! You're very handsome for a mountain." She puts her head on his shoulders. "Oh, Donnie. I wish you could see her. I wish we didn't have to play around like this."
  
  "Don't you think I wish that too, Millie?"
  
  "I know you do. You're a good man, Donnie, but you've made a choice to do evil things." She sighs. "Those I suppose I'm hardly one to talk about that, am I? Nevertheless, as long as you continue to sell this poison -"
  
  "What if I stop?"
  
  "What if I stop?"
  
  "What, just like that?"
  
  "What do I need more money for? Wouldn't it be nice if we could all be a family?" He reaches into the locker and pulls out a bottle of champagne. "What would you say if I told you I picked this up today, and it'll be the last bottle of booze I ever buy? Now - how about a toast?"
  
  toast?"
  
  "You know I never touch-"
  
  "It's okay just this once, isn't it? You don't think I'll tell any of your hoity-toity friends, do you?"
  
  "I supposed not," Mildred says, blushing. She allows Donnie to pour her a glass and clinks it against his. "Very well. Just one. To us!" She gulps it down and makes a face. "Honestly, Donnie, I don't know where you get this cheap - "
  
  And then her hand flies to her throat and she collapses to the tile, her face ashen.
  
  her face ashen.
  
  Poisoned. How? Not by Donnie. Any thought of that leaves your head when you see the look on his face as she falls, and the way he holds her as she dies.
  
  He's still holding her when one of his weaselly looking henchmen saunters in. The goon's eyes widen as he takes in the scene. "Holy smokes, boss. You actually kacked the broad."
  
  Donnie turns to look and him. Silently, he nods.
  
  Suddenly, you smell strong spirits. You turn - and you're face-to-face with the ghost of Mildred Waverly.
  
  > talk to Mildred
  with the ghost of Mildred Waverly.
  
  Her ectoplasmic body ripples and shimmers in the light. She's holey, like a hunk of Swiss cheese, the liquid weeping from the spots where the missing chunks of her body should be. She raises one hand and crooks her fingers towards you. Your belly gurgles. The spirits in the hotel, you realize, weren't really ghosts at all, but fragments of Mildred she left behind...and she's calling them back. A dizzying wave of sobriety crashes over you as the liquid leaches from your body and returns to hers.
  
  When your vision clears, Mildred stands before you, more complete than she was...but still not complete. Either the missing pieces are driving her as koo-koo as a Swiss clock or she's just in a bad mood, because she's hissing up a storm and looking at you like she wants a fight.
  
  "What? Hey, watch it!" you protest. "That was every drop of the stuff I had, I swear!"
  
  But she advances for you anyway, reaching for your face with dripping fingers tipped with razor-sharp boozecicles. There's no reasoning with her in this state! There's only one way out of this, Hazel, and it's a good thing you're thirsty!
  
  1) Drink.
  
  > 1
  [Drink.]
  
  > 1
  [Drink.]
  
  You plant a wet smacker right on the back of Mildred's hand and inhale like your life depends on it, 'cause as far as you can see, it does. You've slurped her up to the elbow before she even realizes what's happening. Then she shrieks and tries to pull away. "Wicked girrrrrl," she growls. "Wicked, slovenly harrrrrlot! Get away from me!"
  
  "Stick it in your ear," you manage in between gulps of her left shoulder.
  
  "Sinnerrr! Scarrrrlet doxy! Floozy! Lush!"
  
  "Aw, you sound just like my senior yearbook entry."
  
  "You've rrrrruined my revenge! Rrrruined it! Rrrrrrrrruined it!" she screeches as her torso begins to crumble inward. You're getting light-headed, not to mention more than a little liquorlogged, but Hazel Greene doesn't put down a drink half-finished.
  
  The ghost shrieks in anguish and frustration as her neck dribbles away, pulling her head - all that's left of her - towards its final fate.
  
  "You may have won!" she screams. "But just look at you! You're not a girl. You're a brewery on legs! You're disgusting! And you're
  drunk!"
  
  The last bit of Mildred swirls into your mouth like water down the bathtub drain. "Oh yeah?" you manage, pausing for a hiccup powerful enough to break a window. "Well, so are you."
  
  1) And that's about where you pass out.
  
  > 1
  [And that's about where you pass out.]
  
  > 1
  [And that's about where you pass out.]Or maybe you're
  actually passing back in, because all of a sudden you've got the cold locker room floor pressed against your back and Agent Byrd slapping you in the face. "Wake up!" she says, before turning to someone you can't see because you can't move your head without everything smearing like a Picasso. "It's no use, she's too drunk. Get me a bucket of cold water."
  
  "I'm not drunk!", you try to protest, but it comes out more like "Amm nawww rarrrunk" because you are, in fact, ossified right out of your little blonde skull. The same skull which Agent Byrd proceeds to lubricate with a gallon of ice water. "You're lucky to be alive," she says, helping you sit up. "The explosion shook the whole hotel."
  
  Donny Cantaloupes rushes into the room, shoving onlookers out of the way. "What's goin' on in here?" he bellows. "Don't you know this is the gentleman's changing area?"
  
  Agent Byrd stands up, triumphant. "It's clear to me exactly what's happened," she says. "You were hiding a cache of highly flammable contraband in this locker room, trusting that it's the one place I'd never dare check. This unfortunate girl snuck in to sample the merchandise, overindulged, lost her head enough to light up a quick jazz cigarette and - BOOM!"
  
  "That's exactly what happened," Donnie says.
  
  "A-ha!"
  
  "Nah, you're takin' the boss out of context," says Donnie's right-hand man, weaseling up. "You gotta remember his speech impediment. And say, boss, I gotta tell you, I was checking the 'mineral water' and it's back to being 'mineral water', not, uh, mineral water, if you get me, see?"
  
  "A-ha, again!" Agent Byrd says. "Don't think I don't know what you're talking about. Men, search the place! We've got you this time, Cantaloupes. And when I bust this place up from stem to stern, not only will we uncover your operation, we'll find evidence for the rest of it too. You'll finally face justice for the murder of Mildred Waverly." She leans forward, getting right in the big man's face. "You killed my mother," she hisses. "And pretty soon I'll be able to prove it."
  
  Suddenly all business again, she backs off and kneels to face you. "Miss, we're going to need a statement."
  
  You don't want to give a statement. In fact, you don't really feel like moving. For one thing, your head is swimming, and for another, speaking of swimming your stomach feels like it could double
  for an Olympic-sized pool right now. You're retaining a lot of Mildred. But Agent Byrd is waiting. You're going to have to tell her something....
  
  1) It's about your mother...
  
  > 1
  [It's about your mother...]
  
  > 1
  [It's about your mother...]"Your mother did this," you say.
  "Or...her ghost did. She was angry with the hotel, and I don't blame her, because the way she died would have steamed anyone's celery. But it wasn't Donnie Cantaloupes who killed her!"
  
  "No, it wasn't," Donnie Cantaloupes says suddenly. "I didn't kill her." Gasps ring out from the crowd as people work out what he just said.
  
  "Uh, Boss," says Weaselly, "let's not say anything we shouldn't outta say in front of Janey Law here..."
  
  ""I didn't kill her!" Cantaloupes says again. "I haven't been carrying this secret around for eight long years. I'm not tired of it. No, I didn't kill her. It wasn't an accident, but that means I'm not responsible. It's not time for me to take responsibility for that. I don't deserve to go to jail."
  
  "Nah, she wouldn't want that," you say. "The ghost showed me how she died, see, and-"
  
  "The ghost?" Agent Byrd explodes. "The ghost? This
  is a serious investigation, not a showcase for your D.T.s!"
  
  "No, really, there was a ghost. Lots of ghosts. I've got this pair of cheaters, see, and - " You put your hand to your face. Where are your special glasses? They're gone!
  
  "And just where exactly is this ghost now?
  
  "Um, I'm not sure. Heaven, I think?"
  
  "That's what I thought. And why, pray tell, do you think my mother would want me to show any regard to the criminal who killed her? Even 'accidentally'?"
  
  1) It's like this...
  
  > 1
  [It's like this...]
  
  Well, what the heck. It's not over until the slightly-curvier-than-average lady sings, so you might as well get singing.
  
  "Because I'm pretty sure this criminal is your father."
  
  "WHAT?" Agent Byrd says.
  
  "See, she and Cantaloupes were passionately in love. They were talking about you in the vision just before she died, which, incidentally, happened because she drank from a bottle of denatured alcohol by accident. He's your father, all right. Look, I've got parental issues too. Although at least my parents are married and, hoo boy, maybe I shouldn't have spilled this in front of all your co-workers, but oh well. There it is. Cantaloupes is your dad."
  
  "Well, if the girl I found lying drunk in the men's changing room babbling about ghosts says it, I suppose it must be true!
  Tell me, do you have even one single solitary shred of proof?"
  
  "Uh. I didn't think of that. I don't suppose you've both got webbed toes or a funny  birthmark on the moneymaker, anything like that?"
  
  "That's what I thought."
  
  "Wait! I just remembered something! Mildred said...when you were young, you had the same speech impediment Cantaloupes does. You always said the reverse of what you meant!"
  
  "That's ridiculous. I never did that."
  
  "You must have been really young! You might not remember, but maybe if you talk to someone who knew you back then - "
  
  "I said I never did that!" Agent Byrd says, her face turning purple. "Donnie Cantaloupes can be my father! It's possible!"
  
  She claps a hand over her mouth.
  
  "That's what I meant to say...I don't mean...I..." She swallows. "It never happens when I'm...that is to say...it only happens when I'm upset. And it doesn't prove anything." She looks at Donnie, her face a mix of curiousity and fear. "But...but I suppose you're not the only one who's made an accusation they can't prove tonight. Perhaps I was too hasty, Mr. Cantaloupes. Perhaps there was more to my mother's disappearance than I know. The booze, however...that, I'm
  shutting you down for."
  
  It wasn't exactly the tearful reunion you might have hoped for, but it'll have to do.
  it'll have to do.
  
  And so you find yourself staggering home at six-thirty in the morning, exhausted, reeking of liquor, and with instructions to talk to the police later. The old lady's going to have your hide. And you've already tossed your guts out onto two different lawns and one very surprised gardener who got in the way of the third lawn at the last second. It's just about your usual morning, in other words.
  
  But y'know what, kid? Last night you un-haunted a hotel with nothing more than pluck, moxie, and your own talented kisser. Last night, you got past every problem the Poseidon Grand could throw at you.
  
  "Roof! Roof!" Barnaby barks happily at your feet. Oh, yeah, there's that, too. You got yourself a dog.
  
  All in all, not a bad night. Not a bad night at all!
  
  THE END.