text: [Themes: Horror, female protagonist, Lovecraftian]
  
  > describe your surroundings
  A few trees, tall and old but gnarled, reach up out of the long grass of this meadow like grasping bony fingers, tattered streamers of moss and vine trailing from their crooked branches. The meadow is bordered on the south by the swamp and on the north by an intimidating barbed-wire fence, and continues for some distance to the east. The path along the edge of the swamp runs westward from here.
  
  Standing in the center of the meadow is a large, rough block of black stone.
  
  A restless ghost flits here and there across the meadow.
  
  > go west
  You follow the path westward, back to Eternal Springs.
  
  The brackish, oily, unpleasant waters of the swamp stretch south from here. Large trees festooned with slimy green creepers stand in the water. To the west is a shed, to the east a path along the shore. The cabins are to the north.
  
  > look under the dress
  (first trying to go over to the white dress)
  The white dress is too far away.
  
  > go to the bed
  Which bed do you mean, the bed near the door, or the bed near the bathroom?
  
  > examine door bed
  The bed looks sort of lumpy, and the pillow is flat and undoubtedly hard. A threadbare brown coverlet is spread over the bed. On the bed near the door is a white dress.
  
  > look under the pillow
  Which pillow do you mean, the bed near the door, or the bed near the bathroom?
  
  > look under the door pillow
  The box springs are sagging, and there's a scatter of tiny dry brown pellets that might be mouse droppings. Nothing interesting, though.
  
  > look under the carpet
  You glance at the stuff in the cabin and instantly dismiss it as unimportant.
  
  > Go north
  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 adjusts the angle of her straw hat microscopically.
  
  > enter the van
  The van has the usual front and rear seats. Through the dust-speckled windows you can see the house, the driveway, the shack, and the cabins. The interior smells faintly of gasoline.
  
  > examine the van
  The van may once have been olive green, but it's almost too dusty to tell. The hood of the van is up, and Tyrone has his head bent low over the engine.
  
  > 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 (which contains some water), an old shovel, a pill bottle, and a little white pill. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > Go outside
  What do you want to move out of?
  
  > go to the southeast
  You can't go that way. Obvious exits lead north; south, to the area behind the cabins; east, to the north end of the croquet court; west; northeast, to the lawn; northwest, to the gravel driveway; southwest, to the garden of junk; and in, back to in the van.
  
  > take the hoop
  With a bit of tugging, you pull a hoop free of the dirt.
  
  > examine the hoop
  The hoop is a thick, bent piece of wire. The ends aren't exactly sharp, but they're tapered to make it easier to drive the hoop into the ground.
  
  > Go north
  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 licks her thumb and turns a page in the 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.
  
  > throw the hoop at the nest
  The wasp nest is too far away.
  
  > 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.
  
  > throw the hoop at the nest
  Disturbing the wasps would be a really, really bad idea.
  
  Beauregard points at where Honey is sunbathing on the lawn. "Quite a little heifer, ain't she? Course, you wouldn't know."
  
  > Poke Phelps with hoop
  That would be very rude.
  
  Beauregard hitches up his suspenders.
  
  > 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 inspects her perfectly manicured bright pink nails.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying a burlap sack (which contains a sequined jacket and a flashlight), the key to Cabin One, a wooden bucket (which contains some water), an old shovel, a pill bottle, a little white pill, and a croquet hoop. You're wearing your clothes.
  
  > give the hoop to Tyrone
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  "There's things that got power," he remarks obscurely, "and things that don't. You gonna have to learn which is which."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the engine
  Tyrone scratches his head. "I guess I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the van
  You ask Tyrone what he's doing with the van. "Oh, somethin' or other's always goin' wrong with it," he says obscurely. "Carburetor, most likely. I'll have it fixed up by tomorrow, time these folks is ready to leave."
  
  > Close vise
  Crushing the croquet hoop in the vise would only be pointless vandalism.
  
  > take the hoop
  (first putting the old shovel in the burlap sack to make room)
  Taken.
  
  > Go upward
  This flimsy wooden platform overlooks the cellar. Stairs lead downward to the west, and there's a door to the east.
  
  > unlock the trunk with the hoop
  You try several times to insert the end of the hoop into the lock, but the hoop is bent in a U shape, which makes it hard to manipulate.
  
  > Straighten hoop
  You straighten out the croquet hoop.
  
  > unlock trunk with the hoop
  You insert the end of the straightened croquet hoop into the lock and twist it this way and that. After a few seconds you hear a very gratifying snap.
  
  > open the trunk
  As the battered old trunk creaks open, a sourceless breeze causes the dropcloths around you to flap and sends scraps of paper scurrying. The back of your neck prickles as you see the ghost from the meadow swirling and rippling in the air before you. For a moment she pauses in her restless flight to lean forward and peer down into the trunk. Then she turns to you and reaches out with one hand. But a moment later she's gone. The cellar is as empty and shadowed as before.
  
  Opening the old trunk reveals a gold locket and some faded photographs.
  
  > take all from the trunk
  gold locket: Taken.
  faded photographs: Taken.
  
  > turn off the flashlight
  You switch off the flashlight, and the light dies.
  
  It is now pitch black.
  
  > examine the locket
  The gold locket is an old-fashioned oval no bigger than the last joint of your little finger. It's suspended from a delicate gold chain, and has a hinge on one side and a shallow indentation, about the size of a fingernail, on the other.
  
  > open locket
  You open the locket, revealing a tiny snapshot of a woman's face.
  
  > examine the photographs
  The photos are brown and faded. They show small groups of people wearing old-fashioned clothes. You've read a couple of books on fashion, and have no trouble identifying the styles as belonging to the 1930s.
  
  One of the men in a couple of the photos looks a whole lot like Beauregard Phelps - but what's odd is that he looks almost exactly like he does today, which is obviously impossible. As old as he is now, he would have been only a little boy in the 1930s.
  
  Standing next to him, looking rather insecure, is a girl about your age. She's wearing a long white dress. On closer inspection she looks awfully like the ghost hovering around the stone block in the meadow.
  
  > take the snapshot
  You can't have that; it's part of the gold locket.
  
  > Close locket
  You close the locket.
  
  > show the locket to the ghost
  When the dead girl sees the locket, she hesitates in her frantic flight, but only for a moment. Then she spins on again through the air above the meadow.
  
  > Oops ghost
  (first taking off the gold locket)
  When the dead girl sees the locket, she hesitates in her frantic flight, but only for a moment. Then she spins on again through the air above the meadow.
  
  > put the locket on the altar
  As you approach the block, suddenly the ghost is whirling around you, shrieking. Terrified, you stagger backward.
  
  > show the photographs to the ghost
  (first taking the faded photographs from the burlap sack)
  The ghost exhibits no curiosity about what you're offering.
  
  > show the snapshot to the ghost
  The ghost seems not to have noticed. Its agitated flight about the meadow continues unabated.
  
  > show the locket to the ghost
  The ghost pauses in its flight, trembles, floats closer to you. Now that its motion has subsided, you can see clearly that it's a dark-haired girl wearing a flowing white dress. She reaches out toward the locket, translucent fingers groping fitfully. "You found it. Oh, you found it! I never thought I'd see it again. That's a portrait of my mother. Wasn't she beautiful? That's what they told me, anyway. I never knew her. I lived with my cousins in Illinois, and...." The girl pauses.
  
  "Oh. Oh, I remember everything now. How they - oh. You must get away from here. They're planning to do the same thing to you, I'm sure of it!"
  
  > ask the ghost about herself
  The ghost strokes her cheek lingeringly, as if wiping away a tear. "My name is Lydia. I was born in 1920. When I - when they - it was 1934 when it happened. My cousin Jake brought me out here. He was a terrible gambler, and I guess he needed money more than anything.
  Maybe I ought to forgive him, but I can't. Beauregard was just the same then as he is now, old and fat. I think he does this to people - to girls like us, I mean - so he can live forever."
  
  > ask Lydia about the locket
  "I'm so glad you found it!" she says. "You must keep it for me."
  
  > ask Lydia about Jake
  "You mentioned your cousin Jake," you say.
  
  "Everybody was poor in those days," she replies. "Nobody had any money. But Jake liked to gamble. He'd play dice, or bet on the horse races, and he lost money he didn't have to begin with.
  
  "I don't know what happened to him afterward. I guess the monster must have made him awful rich, but I don't know much about anything that's happened since I died. Is Franklin Roosevelt still president?"
  
  > ask Lydia about the monster
  "This is such an evil place," she says. "That ... thing that did what it did to me, it came up out of the swamp. But I don't think it's a swamp thing. I think it's older than the swamp, and a lot worse."
  
  > ask Lydia about the ritual
  With some reluctance, you ask Lydia how she died. "I know you'd probably rather not talk about it," you tell her. "But it might help me to know."
  
  She's silent for a minute. "They cut my heart out," she says at last. "With a dagger. It still hurts. All the time. And then this - this thing came down and ate my heart. Or that's what it felt like. Does that help?" You tell her no, you guess it doesn't.
  
  > ask Lydia about the dagger
  "I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know much about very much."
  
  > ask Lydia about the heart
  When you ask her about her heart, what happened to it, she grows very still. Her face knots up with anguish. "They cut it out of me," she says, almost choking on the words. "Beauregard did, with his awful knife. And then the demon came down and ate it. It's gone. But ... you know, sometimes I think I can still feel it beating, very faintly, somewhere very far away.
  
  "And I know you'll think this is crazy, but wherever it is, I don't think it's the only heart in that place. I think there are a lot of hearts, from a lot of other girls, maybe hundreds of them just like me. Like us.
  
  "And sometimes I seem to hear this funny soft sound, along with the beating. It's like a dry, sifting noise, but with little clicking noises in it too, like beetles or something. That doesn't make any sense at all, does it?"
  
  > ask Lydia about the eternal Springs
  "I'm really bored here," Lydia says. "I can never get very far from this spot, but sometimes I go peek into the cabins at night, when people are sleeping."
  
  > ask Lydia about the altar
  Lydia reaches out to touch the stone block, almost lovingly. "That was where they did it to me," she whispers. "I guess it only lasted a minute, but it seems like it lasted years. Like it's still going on, almost. The knife, the blood, the - the thing coming down on top of me, its teeth, its eyes like lava...."
  
  > look at the carvings
  You carefully brush layers of dirt from the surface of the block, revealing seven figures. Two, wearing elaborate headdresses, kneel at the left side and the right. Four more, young and female and naked, march in single file up a ramp. By far the largest figure, waiting at the top of the ramp, is a monster of some sort, with glaring eyes, bared teeth, long claws, and a protruding tongue.
  
  > ask Lydia about the carvings
  "I forget things," she says. "I think I might know something about that, only now I can't remember."
  
  > ask Lydia about the white dress
  You tell Lydia that your aunt brought a dress just like hers for you to wear later this afternoon. She shudders. "That's pretty much what I expected. You have to get away! It's not too late."
  
  > ask Lydia about Phelps
  "He told me we were having a picnic," she says. "He didn't tell me the - the awful thing that came would be the only one eating anything, or that what it would be eating would be me."
  
  > ask Lydia about Honey
  You describe the girl singer from Nashville to Lydia. "She sounds like an awful person," the ghost replies. "Really stuck up. But you know, part of me wishes I could be like her. I mean, I'd be nicer, but you know what I mean."
  
  > ask Lydia about the Aunt
  You tell Lydia how your aunt brought you down here from New York for no apparent reason, and brought along this white dress for you to wear to some kind of supposed picnic. Lydia nods vigorously. "That's just like me with my cousin Jake. I guess he needed money more than anything. I think the horrid thing grants people's wishes. I guess it must have made Jake rich. I'll bet your aunt is the same way. I'll bet she wants something so much she's willing to let them - no, not let them, she's willing to help them kill you."
  
  > ask Lydia about Reverend
  You mention that there's a clergyman staying in one of the cabins, and that he seems to be part of whatever is going on around here. "I wish I could say that surprises me," she says. "But it doesn't. There were some nasty ministers back when I was alive, and I don't guess it's changed much."
  
  > ask Lydia about Tyrone
  "I've seen him," she says. "I don't think he's a bad man. I don't know why he stays around here. He reminds me of somebody, but I just can't think who."
  
  > ask Lydia about the dog
  You tell her how you made friends with the dog, and she smiles.
  "That's very clever."
  
  > ask Lydia about the incinerator
  She's looking off pensively toward the swamp. She seems not to have heard you.
  
  > ask Lydia about the swamp
  "There's nasty things out there in the swamp," Lydia says. "Alligators and other things. I tried to cross the swamp in a boat, before I died. I was trying to get away. Only I didn't have a map, so I got lost.
  And then they came after me and brought me back. You shouldn't go out there unless you have a map, and a compass too."
  
  > ask Lydia about the map
  You ask her if she knows where you might be able to find a map of the swamp. She shrugs. "I don't know anything at all, really. Maybe if you ask some of the people here, someone will be able to help you."
  
  > ask Lydia about the compass
  "I forget things," she says. "I think I might know something about that, only now I can't remember."
  
  > ask Lydia about the boat
  You tell her about the boat shed, and she nods excitedly. "That's where they keep the boats. I'll bet if you could steal a boat, you could get away from here!"
  
  > ask Lydia about the boys
  Lydia giggles. "Those boys? They come down here sometimes. If it's at night, I like to scare them."
  
  > ask Lydia about the Cabins
  "I'm really bored here," Lydia says. "I can never get very far from this spot, but sometimes I go peek into the cabins at night, when people are sleeping."
  
  > 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 3:15.
  
  > go west
  As you walk away, the ghost calls after you in a breathy voice: "I hope you'll come back and visit me."
  
  You follow the path westward, back to Eternal Springs.
  
  The brackish, oily, unpleasant waters of the swamp stretch south from here. Large trees festooned with slimy green creepers stand in the water. To the west is a shed, to the east a path along the shore. The cabins are to the north.
  
  > ask Tyrone about map
  "Hello, Tyrone," you say.
  
  "Hello again," he says. "How you gettin' along, now?"
  
  You ask Tyrone whether he might know where you could find a map of the swamp. "Dunno what you'd need nothin' like that for," he says. Leastways, not unless you got you a boat. Mr. Beauregard, he keeps them boats locked up pretty tight in the shed, don't he?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about the compass
  "I really ought to get back and work some more on that van," Tyrone says apologetically. "I love talkin' with you, an' that's the truth, but I don' want Mr. Beauregard gettin' mad at me, now, do I?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about Jake
  Tyrone shrugs. "None o' my concern, and that's the truth."
  
  > ask Tyrone about the alligators
  Tyrone grins and shakes his head. "You're just full o' questions, ain't you?"
  
  > ask Tyrone about the demon
  Tyrone scratches his head. "I guess I don't know nothin' 'bout that."
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying a burlap sack (which contains a sequined jacket, a flashlight, an old shovel, some faded photographs, and a gold locket), the key to Cabin One, a wooden bucket (which contains some water), a pill bottle, a little white pill, and a croquet hoop. You're wearing your clothes.