Let's Play: Cragne Manor

[jsnlxndrlv (Jason Love)]

Here's a more detailed breakdown. With pictures! Spoilers for Upstairs Hallway, North End follow.

At one point we were asked for info to put together a postmortem, and I prepared some diagrams. First, how I imagined my space:

The bathroom to the northeast was originally going to belong to another participant who withdrew from the event before its conclusion.

The parts of the family I’ve directly described have red stars; italicized figures are implied to exist and may correspond with figures elsewhere in the game, but are otherwise not depicted in my room:

So Carolyn is a Cragne by blood, but not by name. Roger and Theo are both uncles to Carolyn, of various steps removed.

As is obvious by this point, the main organization the Cragnes interact with is the “Variegated Court”, but they also all have their personal projects and hobbyist pursuits. I imagined Gregor discovering the cannibalistic Incarnadine Rite in some blasphemous tome and founding a society to explore its limits and capabilities, and once he was done with it, he’d let the grandkids take over the group to keep them out of his hair. When they come of age around the same time, Roger and Theo each take turns running the Incarnadine Chalice as sort of a training-wheels version of occult high society.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t share the Cragne name, or (more likely) because of the limitations of his judgment, but Roger is never initiated into the greater secrets of the Variegated Court. Theo screens him for membership, but Roger can’t be trusted with even the least of the Court’s secrets, so he’s given the brush-off. Roger knows enough from his time with the Chalice to realize that there’s power in blood and in cannibalism, so he tries to buy his way in by offering Carolyn as sacrifice. He traps her in the (newly remodeled) bathroom and goes to make his pitch.

Carolyn knows that she’s not in any danger from Theo, but she expects Roger will try to kill her, and rather than wait to find out, she uses the Incarnadine Rite to consume herself. (How one would perform such a rite may require you to consult your imagination.) In the process, she knocks over a candle in the bathroom, burning it down for the second time, but the Rite is successful: she no longer has a physical form, but she can still affect the world in some limited ways—thus her attempts to get Naomi to leave the Manor, her opening of the boarded-up furniture, and the reconstitution of her lost JogMaster into Naomi’s inventory.

Theo figures out what happened and decides that the Incarnadine Chalice has outlived its usefulness. He summons them to the Manor under the pretense of inducting them into greater occult mysteries, Roger included. In reality, this is an opportunity for the Court to get rid of the cannibal cult by eating them.

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

@jsnlxndrlv

Hey, congrats on completing the Christabel & Carol rooms! (And the Carolyn room, but that’s a puzzle that solves itself.) You’ve exceeded the limits of my own progress the three or four times I’ve tried to play the game on my own; I can’t believe how far you’ve come.

Thanks! Honestly if I’d been playing on my own, I think I would likewise be struggling because playing Cragne Manor is like drinking from a firehouse – this thread has forced me to slow down, pay more attention, and do stuff like record all my transcripts, make a map, and keep notes of unfinished puzzles, which I think are key to success but which I’m typically too lazy to do. Plus there’s the accountability of not wanting to go too long between updates!

@jsnlxndrlv

I wasn’t sure how serious you were about speedrunning this when you mentioned it earlier in the thread, but if you’re going to go that route, I’ll be very excited to see how few moves you can complete the game in. Hunt the Wumpus is optional, isn’t it?

Oh, I’m definitely going to try it – might have to be post-IF Comp, though, depending on how long it takes. Hunt the Wumpus is mandatory I think since there’s a library book at the end of that puzzle, so the randomness there is going to be an issue. I’ll also need to spend some time optimizing stuff like the Library Annex puzzle, where there’s clearly a complex set of dialogue flags getting set and it’s not exactly clear how progress is being gated. And it’ll be fun to see how much of things like Zarf’s room are skippable with out-of-game knowledge (it seems like the Variegated Court puzzle chain can be completely side-stepped so looking forward to that!)

@HanonO

Among all the myriad horrors of Cragne Manor, nothing so terrifying as tasting canned peaches and having it immediately transmogrify into pickle juice! brr!

Yeah, really not a fan – being immersed in that stuff was ugh.

@HanonO

I will say, I do really enjoy pickled ginger with sushi. That doesn’t count as pickles though!

Oh agreed, those are fine. I might even admit a cocktail onion from time to time, but as you say, these are edge cases that don’t undermine the central, compelling case against pickles.

@Draconis

I’m also not sure why there’s Navajo writing in Vermont, but the Cragnes do seem to come from a vast array of backgrounds, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from the Navajo married in at some point. Lovecraft would be turning in his grave if he knew.

Let us cast our memories back to Chapter the Third…

>ask man about manhole
“What is this… emblem, in the center of the square?”

“It is a symbol of sorts. Don’t know much about it. Except that you can see similar… designs scattered all around Backwater. Usually, though, they are hidd-… I mean: less exposed. They represent some sort of feast, or the likes of it. But, then again…”

He scratches his nose.

“The inscription are in Navajo,” he concludes.

NAVAJO???

>ask man about navajo
“The old Indian language? Aren’t they supposed to originate, like, thousands of miles from here?”

“You can’t really understand the history of this town if you aren’t ready to accept some level of absurdity, Madam.”

So at least it’s lampshaded.

Maybe it triggers off LOOK rather than EXAMINE? It says it helps with searching for library books, so my guess is it gives you a ping when you’re in a room with a library book, or maybe when you examine something containing a library book. We already have the book list and the insignia to indicate whether something is a library book, after all.

I think it must be something like that – I tried walking into the library and checking out the cart, but nothing interesting happened there, perhaps because the glasses don’t ping when the books are in the right place. Once I come to the next place where there’s an untouched book, I’ll definitely experiment!

@Draconis

If you include De Vermibus Laceris itself, that’s five items needed from five puzzle tracks. I hadn’t made that connection before. Neat.

I’d just figured that out this time too – I’d previously been assuming that the Variegated Court puzzle was the capstone, but actually it seems way more likely this is the one everything else feeds into.

@Draconis

But I do somewhat wish the hints had been more integrated into the game instead of just telling us “you think you should [next step here]”.

Agreed – I think the author correctly diagnosed that interacting with the peaches, and talking to the mote, required a bit too much reading of the author’s mind, but wasn’t sure how to fix that with more diegetic prompts.

@Draconis

And “the good guy turns out to also be manipulating you to their own ends”, they loved that one too.

Oh good lord yes (and in imitation of what I saw in the books, like half the games I ran featured that trope too, before I eventually wised up).

@Draconis

I wonder what was keeping her here before Carol’s death, then. There’s a whole lot more time between Christabell’s death and Carol’s than there is between Carol’s death and Nitocris coming through.

Good point – I initially thought the pile of iron tracks was her tie to the mortal world and we’d need to do something with that. I suspect that, in the spirit of improv, Christabell just decided to shift the fetter when she had what she thought was a better idea.

@Draconis

Recognizing that something is close to but not quite the same as a word in a living language, I’m going to have to rely on you for!

Well, all I have going for me is some long-distant high-school French, so it’s a slender reed, but I’ll do what I can!

@jsnlxndrlv

Here’s a more detailed breakdown. With pictures! Spoilers for Upstairs Hallway, North End follow.

Thanks for posting this! The detail on the bathroom’s author backing out is super interesting to know, as is more context on the Incarnardine Chalice (I think there’s alchemical symbolism of the chalice being associated with the human body, so that’s a nice bit of naming). And I hadn’t picked up that Carolyn was also the one who tore open the armoire, but that makes sense.

Did that postmortem you mention ever go anywhere? Might be interesting for someone to try to track down the pieces that were completed, to go with Zarf’s source-gathering project…

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

@DeusIrae

Good point – I initially thought the pile of iron tracks was her tie to the mortal world and we’d need to do something with that. I suspect that, in the spirit of improv, Christabell just decided to shift the fetter when she had what she thought was a better idea.

It also means Christabell doesn’t have to stick around, which is convenient. I’m sure Nitocris would like to ask her some very pointed questions about all of that, but “explain everything in a reasonable way afterward” is always the hardest part with this sort of improv.

…honestly, now that I think about it, it’s entirely possible she’s just hiding from Nitocris to avoid the awkward questions. The rails aren’t going anywhere but if she uses her insubstantial-ness to go inside the mass of iron, it’s not like we have any way to go after her. “Oh no how unfortunate I’m disappearing goodbye don’t come looking for me!”

[Jenni]

@DeusIrae

@Draconis

But I do somewhat wish the hints had been more integrated into the game instead of just telling us “you think you should [next step here]”.

Agreed – I think the author correctly diagnosed that interacting with the peaches, and talking to the mote, required a bit too much reading of the author’s mind, but wasn’t sure how to fix that with more diegetic prompts.

Yeah anytime you see that it’s my fault & not the author’s, I did a final QA pass over the game & shoehorned hints in where none were present, in an attempt to hit a minimum level of hintedness for the game as a whole.

IIRC the bit about “inanimate cow flesh” in the Boiler Room is one I added, as is the line about “You don’t have the right object to CLEAVE through the MEAT of this dead dog,” something with the flashlight you didn’t run into, etc.

They’re clunky & not better integrated ‘cause I didn’t want to insert too much extraneous text into the authors’ prose; my biggest regrets re: Cragne Manor revolve around maybe having gotten too heavy-handed about changing & adding things* – that & never finishing the post-mortem!

It was supposed to come out with a source code release, & I got to the point of needing to format the I7 code prettily for publishing, & zarf supplied me with a python script, & I couldn’t get the python script to run, which was the point where I metaphorically Kirby-flipped the table & went “SCREW THIS I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE TO CRAGNE MANOR” & went into a fugue state for a year or something, idk what I did in 2019. The emails still exist & I’m on working ADHD meds now so I might actually have the dopamine to dig them out & see if I can get that python script to run.

(* I don’t regret adding “Or maybe a J fused with a P? No, it’s definitely an R fused with a V” to Naomi’s coin description, which originally just showed an R fused with a V, & I was like “hey I’m here too.” Maybe I should feel very bad about this but I refuse.)

[zarf (Andrew Plotkin)]

@Jenni

Maybe I should feel very bad about this but I refuse.

That is entirely an earned addition.

(Btw, I improved the Python script in the course of setting up my web page. I can wade in further if that would be helpful.)

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

Ooh, what was the added hint about the flashlight?

[Jenni]

had to go check; if you open the flashlight & X it:

Small raised letters inside the flashlight read “CONSUMER BE ADVISED: INSERTING RANDOM GLOWING OBJECTS INTO THIS FLASHLIGHT MAY VOID YOUR WARRANTY.”

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

@Jenni

Yeah anytime you see that it’s my fault & not the author’s, I did a final QA pass over the game & shoehorned hints in where none were present, in an attempt to hit a minimum level of hintedness for the game as a whole.

Oh man, I flip my feeling about those hints, then – like, as an author’s attempt to compensate for an inadequately-clear puzzle, they’re inartful, but as as editor’s intervention towards player-friendliness, they’re a godsend! Like, I didn’t pick up on the flashlight hint, though that’s a good once, since I think that’s a reasonably-clued puzzle, plus the combinatorial explosion hasn’t gotten too crazy yet by that point of the map. But the pickled-peach mote and the DEADBEEF thing would have been way too hard without those hints, and for a project like this, it’s way better to err on the side of keeping things solvable – I know I’d be having a far worse time of it without them in there. So many many thanks for your work on that, on top of everything else!

@Jenni

(* I don’t regret adding “Or maybe a J fused with a P? No, it’s definitely an R fused with a V” to Naomi’s coin description, which originally just showed an R fused with a V, & I was like “hey I’m here too.” Maybe I should feel very bad about this but I refuse.)

Umm no, you should not feel bad about that in the slightest!

(Another reference I didn’t pick up on, blarg)

[okushimo (Greg Frost)]

I remember testing a version of this game before the coffee cup existed. Jenni did a lot of polishing between 0.2 and 1.0.

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

Chapter the Nineteenth: People of Backwater - We! Are! Narthex!

Last time, Nitocris cleaned up a bunch of outstanding puzzles back in Backwater – including the talky LARP quest to end all talky LARP quests – culminating in a little poem. This time, we’ll turn our attention to making something of the passel of keys we’ve picked up these last few chapters and see if we can cross some of those locked doors off the to-do list.

We’d previously established that the white key we picked up from the court area unlocked the crypt in the Cragne Family Plot, so we’ll start there:

>in
(first opening the crypt door)

Family Crypt (Justin Melvin)
You are in a long-neglected, dusty, and surprisingly cold crypt, about the size of a garage. The walls are covered with a dark mold creeping from the floor, and the whole place smells unsettlingly like cured meat and leather. There are numerous plaques on the floor, and it is difficult to navigate the room without stepping on one of them. Your eyes are drawn to the only other object in the room: a large ornately decorated stone coffin. The only exit is the door you came in through leading back outside.

Justin Melvin is a person of mystery, so far as I can tell – beyond having no other info on IFDB, he’s also got two first names, which is already obscure and ambiguous!

In the course of chasing down whether he’s got a username on this forum, though, I discover something more horrifying that just about anything we’ve seen on the thread so far (horse-shoggoth and music room excepted). Turns out this board has a user feature you can use to look for folks, which I’d never checked out before, and here’s what that screen looks like:

Oh, that’s nice, looks like I’m on the top of the list since I’ve gotten the most likes this week – this thread has been lovely for that!

I wonder what the month numbers look like?

…I guess that makes sense, I was pretty active on the boards this month.

Geez, the whole year too? I did all those IF Comp reviews, plus Spring Thing and Parser Comp, but still, that’s a lot.

Oh good lord, I’ve only been active on this forum for like two years – how am I possibly above @mathbrush?

I, uh, maybe could stand to dial things back a little, is my takeaway here.

Anyway! Let’s get back to the crypt and never talk of this again.

We’re as good looking as ever, and there’s not much scenery here (I don’t think those plaques mentioned as being on the floor are actually implemented), beyond one rather unappealing element:

>x mold
Eww. Gross. You don’t even want to think about it.

I don’t!

On to the main event:

>x coffin
A large, gray stone coffin with a heavy-looking lid. It is carved with an intricate pattern of swirling lines, none of them intersecting at right angles. There is an inscription on the side.

>read inscription
In the dim light, it is difficult to make out the faded lettering, but you can see “HAR?AWELL CRAG?E, Icterine Al?erman of the Va?ieg?ted Cou?t.” It’s uncle Harvawell! You didn’t know him personally very well, but he was a local celebrity - he was a lead newscaster for one of the local TV stations. He passed away about five or six years ago. You aren’t sure exactly what he died of, and you missed his funeral. You feel a knot in your stomach. This wasn’t really the way you wanted to get close to him.

Oh no, not dear old Uncle Harv! He seems to have kept a much higher profile than the average member of the Court – I wonder what kind of mischief he got up to with his TV news perch…

“Icterine” is like yellowish. We’ve got the name, so now we’re just looking for the familiar. Pretty clear how we should go about that:

>open coffin
For some reason, you feel compelled to open the coffin. Your heart races. Why would you do that? Why do you want to disturb the departed? You don’t like this urge and try to ignore it.

Ha ha, Nitocris, you’re such a kidder.

>open coffin
You feel your hands being drawn to the lid of the coffin. You feel blood pulsing in your neck and ears. Your breathing becomes shallow, and you start to panic. Why are you trying to open this coffin? What kind of a person are you?

Stop, stop, you’re making me giggle!

>open coffin
You are really starting to lose it. This isn’t your body anymore. You are losing control of your hands and arms, as you feel yourself hefting the massive lid above the coffin. You feel the ache of your arms and back as you struggle to push it out of the way, all the time feeling like a stranger in your body, watching and feeling someone else’s actions. You don’t want to look down - you don’t want to look down - you look down inside the coffin, sweating. You see a skull, but not the rest of Uncle Harvawell’s body, along with a mummified rodent (a weasel, maybe?).

Huh, anyone have “weasel” on their bingo card? I’ll accept stoat or mink, too.

>x skull
You don’t know why you opened the coffin to find this skull, but here it is. You can see Uncle Harvawell’s broad jawline and high cheekbones on the skull - it really does look just like him. You remember him smiling from the 6pm news, and you shudder as you look at him in his terminal location, wondering what questions you would ask him. This scene is his final, interred view.

In Uncle Harvawell’s skull is a long wooden key.

We grab the long wooden key, then try for the skull:

>take skull
The thought of actually picking up poor Uncle Harvawell’s skull is more than you could bear.

Aww, too bad, I wanted to do the Hamlet thing.

>x weasel
You have no idea what happened to the rest of Uncle Harvawell, and you really have no idea why there is a mummified weasel with large yellow teeth next to his head.

Oh, we have an idea!

>take weasel
What a revolting idea.

>rub it
You rub the mummified weasel.

Who’s a good boy! Who’s watching over their master’s soul in the afterlife!

That’s all there is to do here, so we set out to see what that new key unlocks. It doesn’t take too long to find a winner:

Church Exterior (Andy Holloway)

>unlock door with long wooden key
You unlock the church doors.

Boom! We’re in.

>in
(first opening the church doors)
Your reading glasses frost over at the edges. You feel a sharp pain from the cold spot on your shoulder, and feel like there’s a library book you–or Emmett, perhaps–hasn’t read yet from this location.

Ah, so that’s how the glasses work – not too spoilery, just a little nudge.

Church Lobby-Space (Hanon Ondricek)
This shallow space extends the width of the church. What do you call this? The church-lobby? Surely there’s a better name for it… Despite the gloominess, it’s not that unwelcoming. You’d guess renovations happened mid-1980s–the color scheme is that sponge-painted beigy-peach which goes great with industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles. A stamped powder-blue accent border provides a homey feel for church-lady potlucks.

The chapel proper opens to the west and a set of double doors leads out of the building.

Also good to note: two side by side openings lead in to restrooms. Now’s probably a good time to go–this place is quite a bit tidier than many of the locations you’ve visited, and who knows when you might next encounter a clean bathroom that isn’t filled with skeletons, or making scary noises, or holding a contraption that dispenses a key, or a portal to a pocket dimension full of snakes with baby-faces or something worse…

A collection of framed photos is arranged on one wall, and a woodstained ladder bolted nearby leads up through a square opening in the ceiling.

You know, you could use a quick restroom break about now.

Hey, we’ve finally found @HanonO’s place! I’m a fan of his big, funny, complex games, like The Cursèd Pickle of Shireton, and of course he’s also the stalwart moderator around here.

Lots to check in on here but as to that opening question of where we’re at, I was raised Catholic so I can tell you that this place is likely called the atrium, or if we’re getting really hardcore, the narthex.

As to that parade of horribles about what kind of stuff you can find in a bathroom: LOL. We’ve been to the meatpacking plant bathroom, so all your threats are empty.

Let’s check out the simpler location description when we type L again:

This shallow space extends the width of the church. Despite the gloominess, it’s not that unwelcoming except for the eye-watering pattern of industrial linoleum floor tiles. They checkerboard underfoot in grayish green and grayish white squares with dark speckles, stopping only at the margin marked by a wall border at waist level.

I’m highlighting this because I was just reading a post of Hanon’s in the thread about managing noun creep, where he said this: “if it’s [an] ordinary [location] give it one unique detail to be memorable.”

I see what you’re doing here!

>x linoleum
The floor expands underneath; a bewildering checkerboard of pale green and white linoleum tiles.

>x border
An endless repeating design of blue-stamped geese that alternately honk “Welcome” and “Jesus Saves” runs around the room at belly-button height.

Ooof. With all apologies to my Protestant friends, give me marble and stained glass any day over this approachable BS.

>x photos
Black and white photos of generations of religious folk and church social gatherings. Included are four or five class photos of students in tweed blazers, pressed slacks, and plaid skirts. The newest is inscribed 1978.

A yellowed newspaper article in a more modern frame catches your attention.

Huh, was this like a Catholic church, with a Catholic school?

>x class photos
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine student faces.

>x student faces
Vague monochrome faces with feathered hair. Curious… One specific student’s face is obscured with red wax…or–scribbled red lipstick?

>clean it
You only succeed in smearing the lipstick a little more.

Huh.

>put vinegar on lipstick
Putting things on student faces would achieve nothing.

Aww, come on, I’ve been carting along the vinegar this long, give me the win!

>x yellowed newspaper
(the yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew))
The paper is dated, July 26, 1970. The headline reads “Fulvous Alderman of the Variegated Court Found Dead.”

Below the headline is a photo of someone you assume is Fulvous dressed in all black with black tie and black top hat. He is standing in front of an old church and strangely enough, there’s a duck at his feet, almost posing.

The article reads, “Fulvous Alderman of the Variegated Court was found dead yesterday. His body was found by an unnamed man who was exploring a remote area when he came across an abandoned white house. When the young man entered through a back window to explore the home, he found the body of Fulvous in the attic. He was slumped over a table with what appears to be a ceremonial dagger in his back. Other than the knife and some dull orange duck feathers scattered around the room, no other clues were found regarding the culprit or the motive.”

A faint smell of mildew emanates from them.

Oh, blarg, this was an old article – and I’d actually already crammed a different bit of yellowed newsprint into the junk pocket to avoid a disambiguation issue. Now that we reread this, the incongruous duck thing makes a lot more sense!

(Also, whoever wrote this seems to have thought the dude’s name was “Fulvous”)

>x yellowed newspaper article
(the framed newspaper article)
From the Backwater Gazette, March 8, 1984. The faded print is hard to read, but the article details the Backwater Historical Society renovation of the narthex of the church after a fire five years prior. School, library, and gymnasium incinerated to the dirt foundation in an unexplainable inferno during the 1979 Maple Harvest Dance… 166 students, faculty, and neighbors tragically lost…no remains identifiable… The church itself suffered only minor damage in what surviving parishoners describe as a “divine miracle”…

Haha, yes! This is great!

Not the “miracle” or the magic arson (sorry, “unexplainable inferno”) – I’m excited at the confirmation that we’re in a narthex! I’m generally a nerd for church architecture terms, but I especially like this one.

If you’ll forgive an anecdote: I’ve mentioned in the previous update that I’ve played a bunch of White Wolf roleplaying games, none more so than Mage: The Ascension, which is a pomo game of wizards-as-ideologues punching each other with magic(k). One of the conceits of the setting is that groups of mages are organized as formal cabals, with formal names, while another is that said groups will be made up of wildly disparate folks. In one of the longest-lasting of the campaigns I played in, where the pitch was basically “magic grad students”, we had a couple Harry Potter style wands-and-alchemy wizards, a nihilistic goth, an exchange student from an alternate dimension that’d been set up as a generic fantasy novel, an order-from-chaos computer scientist, and a social worker on a mission from God.

Coming up with a name that worked for all these folks was, uh, challenging – and we never quite managed to land on one – but l was pretty excited when I realized “Narthex” could kinda work: like half the party was Catholic, and since it’s the entryway to the cathedral, it worked as like a spatial metaphor for the characters graduating from their apprenticeships and approaching the real work of magic. Plus it sorta sounds like a heavy metal band, which is badass.

This idea was roundly hooted down, because of course it was, but still: Narthex.

Er, anyway, we’re pretty much done here, and I’ve been detecting a slight impetus to visit the bathroom, so let’s do that:

>in

Women’s Restroom
The women’s restroom is tidy as church facilities go. There is only one way out, unless you count the bathroom stall door reflected in the mirror above the sink.

It appears someone has discarded a tube of lipstick on the sink.

There’s no author listed, so I’m assuming we’re still in Hanon’s room.

>x mirror
It’s you, Naomi Cragne, staring back from the mirror. Good-looking as ever, if maybe a bit frazzled from recent events. Right then. You look focused, confident; your lips are a bit pale, but what can you do?

Oh right, we haven’t done this yet:

>x me
You stop and take stock: yes, you are still Naomi Cragne despite everything that has happened and who you may or may not have been up to this point. Your husband needs you to help him, and you are bound and determined to do exactly that, no matter what horrors lie in wait for you going forward.

You are wearing a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew), a battered yellow JogMaster, a label (smelling faintly of mildew), a calfskin coat, a trolley pass and Ed’s coveralls.

You are also lugging around a whole lot of stuff.

Oh man, we totally are. I like this incorporation of what we’re wearing, too!

>x door
The flimsy stall partitions afford a modicum of privacy in a public restroom–you can’t see over or under them.

>open it
You open the bathroom stall, revealing no one.

I’m less concerned with whether anyone is there and more whether anyhorse is lurking.

>x lipstick
The lipstick is practically new and appears to never have been used. Score. The label names it “Saucy Siren”–which of course is a dark shade of red.

Might as well give this a try – we haven’t touched up our makeup in quite a while:

>wear it
You meticulously apply the lipstick mph…mpoph… You should check it out in the mirror to make sure you didn’t get any on your teeth.

Sure, why not:

>x mirror
Mmm, luscious red lips–ones that total fox Brandon Cragne might want to kiss…that is, if she played her cards right. Otherwise, the same mousy brown hair pulled back in clips, the same lame grey tweed school uniform. The same pallid complexion. Heavy sigh.

Wait, Brandon, not Peter? And wait x2, “lame grey tweed school uniform”? Ruh roh.

(To be continued, probably later tonight)

[borg323]

@DeusIrae

Let’s get back to the crypt and never talk of this again.

Your secret is safe with us.

[Jenni]

oh man you’re in for a treat with Hanon’s room, it’s one of those super good big ones

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Nineteenth, continued – was able to sneak in another bit of update)

So where are we now?

>l
Girl’s Room
The girl’s restroom by the chapel was Jessica’s main respite while at school, being a good detour away the main facility in the school hallway. Often she was able to get several minutes to herself away from the other spazz-girls in her class. There was only one way out through the door back to the Chapel hallway.

>x me
Jessica experienced an odd moment of disorienting deja-vu where she didn’t feel quite herself, but it passed quickly.

Oh sweet Jesus – literally: we’re back in high school, and it’s Catholic school.

>i
She was carrying:
her school uniform (being worn)
some overdue library books
her sister’s lipstick

>x books
Books from the school library. The stamped cards in the folders glued inside the cover said they were due on 1979 03 16 FRI, so she needed to return them ASAP. Mrs. Bowler, the librarian, usually didn’t mind letting her slide a couple of days, but… The covers both had stickers on them identifying them as school property.

>read books
She had read them through already. Proper Etiquette for Young Ladies (and Gentlemen!) had absolutely no dating advice. Practical Handbook of Love Spells for Everyone seemed a bit more promising, but she didn’t have all the colors of candles for the spell she wanted to use on Brandon Cragne.

Jessica here seems a little monomaniacal.

>x lipstick
She swiped her sister’s new lipstick–just to try out. Of course she was going to give it back.

>wear it
She had plenty of it on already. If she flattened it, her sister would freak out.

>x mirror
The person in the mirror was definitely not her. She was at least as old as her mom, staring blankly, occasionally opening and closing her lips as if in a trance. She appeared to be wearing some red lipstick in the exact same color as hers, a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew), a battered yellow JogMaster, a label (smelling faintly of mildew), a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew), a calfskin coat, a trolley pass and Ed’s coveralls.

Wait, Jessica can see us? This is weird, hopefully nobody else can! Though honestly, they’ll soon have bigger fish to fry – anyone who doesn’t want to be on fire in ten minutes should probably start making an orderly queue by the door.

>out
As she turned to leave, the door creaked open. In walked The Plains–the three most devout girls in school.

“Thelma, didn’t you tell me that this bathroom usually is deserted around lunchtime?” grumped Dawn.

“Well, it was yesterday. Don’t worry, we won’t be long, Jezebel,” the biggest Plain sneered.

“Oh, Thelma, don’t be so mean to her! Her name is Jessica. It is Jessica, right?” She could tell Meredith really didn’t care since she was already checking her hair ribbon for right-angle-alignment in the bathroom mirror.

The Plains were worshipped and feared–they were the eyes and ears of the Sisters in every corner of the school and involved themselves in everyone else’s business.

Okay, a bunch of dowdy narcs as the queen-bees of Catholic school is a pretty funny idea.

>x meredith
Meredith Mulroney, the plainest of the Plains. Studious. Put-together. Perfect white ribbon pulling back her straight, perfectly chestnut brown hair. Her blouse extra ruffly at the throat. Her grey-on-grey plaid skirt never less than three inches below her grey-socked knees. This girl was a total flat pan of warm milk.

>x thelma
Thelma Groffley. Varsity Basketball, color team, volleyball, gymnastics and ROTC. She wore sweats under her skirt every day and one long strawberry-blond braid to her waist tied with a stupid white and gold bow. In eighth grade Thelma won a ten dollar bet that she couldn’t pop a kickball by compressing it between her very sturdy thighs.

>x dawn
Dawn Whitford, photographic memory, never forgets like an elephant. Has daily, since kindergarten, sported anywhere from two to five useless straight, skinny pigtails anchored on her head with those big clear glass beads and tiny gold spectacles like she’s the cousin of both Mother Goose and Mrs. Claus. She was Sister Mary Marcia’s favorite and thus was able to wield the old nun like an attack dog on call.

That’s quite the murderer’s row!

>dawn, hello
Jessica had recently started hearing voices in her head and had grown accustomed to supressing and ignoring what they said. Right now she just needed to be away from people.

Okay, seems like Nitocris doesn’t have too much influence over Jessica (but, erm, we’re not the first voice in her head? Must be a little crowded in here).

>exit
Jessica moved to exit, but Thelma wouldn’t move away from the bathroom door. “That’s some awfully bright red lipstick you have on, Jezebel. You know red is Jesus’s least favorite color.”

Meredith turned, “Oh, cut her some slack, Thel. It looks like someone is trying to learn how to pretty herself up for the Maple Harvest dance!” she chirped.

Wait, the harvest dance is coming up? From the library books it sounded like it was March – I guess those must have been very, very overdue.

Dawn blew her nose with some toilet paper from the stall and tossed it away. “Well, Jessica probably should be aware that the Maple Harvest dance is a formal occasion and not a Halloween party, so she ought to dial back on the clown paint.”

“Or a Mary Magdalene look-alike contest, neither,” added Thelma.

“So,” Meredith continued, applying her own lip-shade that was exactly the same color as her lips and had no noticeable effect, “Jessica, does this mean you’ve found a special someone who will be accompanying you to the biggest school event of the year?”

> shut up!!!

Please answer yes or no.

Sigh, fine:

> yes
That was none of Meredith Mulroney’s beezwax. “No, I haven’t,” Jessica replied.

“Oh, that’s so sad!” Meredith wailed. “Your senior year, too! Hold on, wait a minute. I know someone who is more than likely free and isn’t going…what about…Brandon Cragne?”

“Brandon Cragne? He plays Dungeons and Dragons,” Dawn slurped, articulating through her retainer. “You know, Satan’s boardgame?”

The two demi-Plains parted at the clacking of orthopedic shoes in the hallway, and suddenly the door was blockaded with Sister Mary Marcia’s imposing frame. “What in blazes is going on in here? This restroom is too small for all four of you at once.”

“Good morning, Sister Mary Marcia,” Dawn wheedled. “We were just pointing out to our classmate here that the vividness of her cosmetic selections violate the parameters of standard school dress code policy.”

The nun sucked a breath between her teeth, “Jessica. You are too young to be wearing makeup, much less that shade of red. That lipstick is for protestant girls!” Sister Marcia held out her hand. “Are you trying to give the boys the wrong idea? If not, you’d better hand over that lipstick.”

Again, speaking as an ex-Catholic, that lack of capitalization on “protestant” is some shade.

>out
>but it belongs to my sister
“This Sister says give me that lipstick,” replied Sister Mary Marcia.

(If it’s not clear, the first line is what I type, and then the second line shows up – again, we’re very much not in control of Jessica’s choices, just making a nudge here and there)

>eat lipstick
>my sister will kill me if she doesn’t get this back
“Hand it over,” snapped the nun.

I was just trying to hide the evidence.

>look behind you a three headed monkey
She couldn’t see any such thing.

>flee
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>e
>but, Sister Mary Marcia…

“I don’t want to hear any backsass, girl,” insisted Sister, growing seemingly more impatient.

>wheedle
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>cry
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>moan
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>beg
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>sigh
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>give lipstick
Whom do you want to give her sister’s lipstick to?

>myself
>but it belongs to my sister
“You can have it back at the end of the year,” snapped Sister Mary Marcia.

>give lipstick to sister
Jessica relinquished the forbidden devil’s paint. Sister Mary Marcia plucked a rough brown paper towel from the dispenser and licked it. “You’ve still got some on your mouth. That will have to come off. Hold still…” the nun grabbed her face and began scrubbing, much to the amusement of the Plains.
Aaaaaaghh! Stop it! STOP IT!

>take off lipstick

You wipe all the red off of your lips, expecting your hands to come away covered in it–but there is no trace of the lipstick on your hands. You check the mirror–none on your face either.

Ho hum, we’re certainly not stoking up Carrie-style rage that will eventually boil over in an orgy of bloodletting!

>l
Women’s Restroom
The women’s restroom is tidy as church facilities go. There is only one way out, unless you count the bathroom stall door reflected in the mirror above the sink.

From this angle in the mirror, you spy a pair of red shoes under the stall door.

Okay, it looks like we’re Nitocris again, but seeing another red object associated with the performance of adult female sexuality, I’ve got a pretty good idea of how we can get back to Jessica’s POV:

>x red shoes
There are definitely some shoes in the bathroom stall, right where they would be if someone were sitting on the–but you don’t hear anyone…breathing…or otherwise…

>open door
You open the bathroom stall, revealing some red high heel shoes and no one.

>x red shoes
These are some vintage kicks–but red leather pumps never go out of style. Someone must be bummed about forgetting these.

>wear them
(first taking the red high heel shoes)
You slip off your sensible running shoes and insert your toes into the shiny pumps. They are a little tight and your heel won’t go in…unless you exert some force. Thunk. Thunk. Woo! They fit perfectly.

She pulled the pin from her hair and let it tumble loosely around her shoulders, shaking it out to complete the glamorous tall-model look.

>x me
If only she could be someone else for a while!

Yup, there we are.

>i
She was carrying:
some red high heel shoes (being worn)
her school uniform (being worn)
some overdue library books

>x uniform
Tweed blazer, very hot, crisp white or off-white blouse buttoned all the way up, flat shoes–at least they were comfortable. Plaid skirt below the knee–no skin above the knee socks. Love you, Jesus, but who would ever think this type of getup was a stylish thing for young girls to wear? In addition, the Backwater Devotional Sisters of Mary Catholic High School colors were gray and light gray. My life is a black and white movie. Sigh.

>x mirror
The woman held her gaze and wrote letters with a lipstick on the glass: B…A…A…V–what?

Hrm, that doesn’t sound quite right…

>out
Of course, the door banged open and Dawn Whitford peered around it, “Está ocupado, Meredith!” Dawn flapped the rest of the way in with a clipboard, “Jessica, I took the initiative to add your name to the Harvest Dance cleanup crew, since you more than likely aren’t going to be attending with all the normal people.” Meredith flitted to the mirror, and Thelma skulked in behind her, guarding the door like usual. “…That way, you can at least come in the last half hour and hear some of the music and see everyone’s dresses.”

“Oh, you still haven’t found someone to accompany you to the dance yet?” Meredith read her face and wrinkled her nose. “That’s such a shame! Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be there at the end at least. I can’t wait for you to see this luscious floor-length all-white chiffon number I found! Since it’s senior year, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go sleeveless!”

The other two girls went “oooooOOOOOOooo” on cue like third-graders witnessing people kiss in a movie.

“I’ll be there with my dancin’ shoes on!” Meredith squealed, briefly performing the most geriatric Charleston step Jessica could imagine before turning gleefully to the mirror to make sure her hair was still, in fact, completely straight.

“Speaking of footwear,” Thelma approached twirling her braid, “check out the snazzy kicks on Jezebel here! Your shoes aren’t going to get you closer to heaven, honey!”

“Red is Satan’s favorite color,” Dawn reminded. “And I don’t have my ruler, but I’m quite sure the heel height on those don’t fit the official school dress code.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Meredith muttered into the mirror. “I think they’re pretty. You know every little bit helps when you start at a disadvantage!”

Thelma sauntered past, “Jus’ remember: the higher you climb, the farther you fall.”

The shove wasn’t hard, but it was deliberate, and Jessica was doing okay balancing but had no traction and her feet skidded out from under her as she flailed awkwardly. WHAM her tailbone contacted the tile and every limb went shockingly numb for a moment.

I know Meredith is passive-aggressive AF, but she’s still the best one by a country mile.

>cry
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>stand
>push her

We’re having those action-disconnects again…

no voices in my head you don’t control me stop laughing!

>take the high road
I only understood you as far as wanting to take the red high heel shoes.

>take shoes
>push thelma
stop arguing i cant think stop laughing!

>wear them

PUSH THELMA
thats not what i want to do oh god oh god stop laughing!

>i
>PUSH HER
theres no way out of this just do something get me out of here stop laughing!

>l
>ATTACK HER
oh god oh god stop laughing!

Come on, Jessica, we gotta chill.

>meditate
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>oh well
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>push thelma
Once she gave in, it seemed gravity reversed, and she–Llll r’luh ot syha’h vaadignephod, uh’eog ng uh’eog ot shugg uh’eagl ot n’ghftoggn’thor, vermont–rose to her feet by magic. like hurling a fastball at Thelma Groffley’s stupid face but there was no physical contact–Jessica raised her hands and–

!!!blam!!!

–Thelma flew five feet into the ceramic wall tiles hard enough to loosen several.

“What?–” shrieked Meredith.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Dawn, immediately babbling Hail Mary through her fingers.

Thelma slid down the wall onto her butt with her legs splayed, blinking morse code.

The white and gold bow that held her braid tightly wound fluttered from the ceiling, smoldering, then igniting. The flames crackled, spurring Dawn to step forward and stomp it out with her sneaker, “What kind of demon are you?”

“Come on, Thelma,” Meredith hoisted the bigger girl to her feet–she was now blurbling nonsense words–lloig ah mgepch’nglui’ahog. Y’ mgsyha’h ephaiah ahehyee–through a bloody nose. “Uh. Let’s…get you to the nurse.” The leader of the Plains escorted her gently. “I’m right here… Now the left one. Good. And…the right one. You’re walking so good, Thelma!”

Dawn remained, hands planted on hips, “Don’t think that Sister Mary Marcia won’t hear about this!” and she stomped out indignantly, maintaining a five-foot radius.

>all hail cthulhu
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

That might have some consequences, we should probably book it.

>out

Narthex
The bland checkerboard-floored antechamber (though the nuns always called it the narthex) that connected the chapel to the main school hallway proudly displayed a decade’s worth of framed photographs of historical Catholic figures and famous nuns, posters for school activities, and important mimeographed lists of extra-curricular activity rosters taped to the walls.

Bellowed hosannas from choir rehearsal taking place behind the closed chapel doors to the west competed with the roar of the school hallway to the east.

The ladder to the bell tower rose against the wall in its usual place. A sign mounted at face-height read “STAFF ONLY. NO STUDENTS!”

Narthex!

>x me
Nope. Jessica was still herself…although she thought she could get used to this three-inch-higher perspective while wearing her sister’s high heels.

>x photos
Scores of photos: Popes, Cardinals, Bishops and Priests and Decons and Nuns, oh my, most sported heavy horn-rimmed glasses. There were four or five class photos grouping high-school students in tweed blazers, pressed slacks, and plaid skirts up through 1978. The ones including Jessica and people she knew were up too high pick out individuals.

>x lists
Rosters for football, basketball, track, color team, chess club, drama club… Not important.

>x posters
Posters encouraged students to try out for football, basketball, track, color team, chess club…and there was a poster still up from the fall production of 12 Angry Men. The nine girls who had to play men actually did a really good job.

The most prominent addition to the group was Backwater Devotional Sisters of Mary Catholic High School Class of '79 Presents our Maple Harvest Dance: Sweet Enchantment Under the Leaves!

>listen
She could hear the choir warming up. Choir Director Sister Leticia believed in a minimum forty-five minutes of warmups to protect young throats and vocal cords. They were on bibba-beeba-bobba-bayba-boo up and down the scale in increasing half-steps.

Ugh, let’s get out of here.

>u
Jessica didn’t have any reason to climb to the bell tower. The Quasimodo story the seniors always told incoming underclassmen had been demonstrably proven false.

Let’s get out of here a different direction.

>w
Jessica had been banished from choir for two weeks for her “creative” scat-jazz interpretations of some of the warmup exercises. She probably didn’t need to show her face in there for a while.

Jessica, I like your moxie.

>e

School Hallway
The hallway stretched further east to classrooms and the cafeteria and back west to the Chapel. The Gymnasium yawned its familiar oppressive woodsmell to the north below a paper banner in direct opposition to the school Library, which was an oasis of quiet solitude to the south.

omigodohmygod…Brandon Cragne was leaning on the locker next to hers talking to his friend whatshisname…

(I dunno if the use of the name “Brandon” was an intentional Beverly Hills 90210 callback, but I’m very much enjoying it regardless)

>talk to brandon
Noooo!

>x brandon
Ah. Brandon.

>talk to brandon
I caaaan’t!

Look, dude plays D&D, how hard can it be?

>ask brandon about thac0
“Oh, hi, Brandon isn’t it? I’m Jessica. Nice to meet you finally!” is what she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. She was going to do it. She was going to do something. She was going to walk right up to him–no, she was going to introduce herself–no, just walk by him like it’s no big deal, just say “Oh, hi, Brandon” and toss her hair and–

At that moment her balance on the high heels failed her, and she pitched forward right into Brandon Cragne who caught her and kept her from hitting the floor…his arms around her he smells like he didn’t have time to shower after mowing the lawn this morning sharp bitter green cut clippings and grape bubble gum–

“Are you okay?” he said, setting her back upright.

“I’m fine! Sorry, I–”

“You’re Jessica, right?”

“Yeah, you got me,” she said, trying to stand up straight in the awkward shoes. How does he know my name?

He smoothed his hair with one hand. Pointlessly, because it fell right back into place. He dismissed his friend with a subtle jerk of his head and Whatshisname scurried off. “Jessica, I wanted to ask you a question…”

“Sure, Brandon!”

He inhaled, hesitating, “Are you going…I mean…are you…would you…”

“Yes, Brandon?”
“Are you…going into the library right now?”

“Um…yeah. I am…actually. I need to return these books.”

Brandon blinked, “Great! Wonderful! Here’s the thing…” He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a scrap of paper. “I need a book to do some research before Friday and Sister Mary Marshmallow took away my library privileges. I can’t even go in there to read.”

“That’s weird,” Jessica said, taking the card which had a Dewey Decimal number on it. “What did you do to Sister Marcia?”

“Long story.” The hallway was clearing out as lunch was ending, and clacking heels echoed down the hallway. “Speak of the Devil,” he said, glancing down at the nun who was in the process of confiscating cigarettes from a student. “I need that book.”

“Sure, I’ll go get it right now–”

“Thank you!” he said, putting his warm hands on Jessica’s shoulders for a brief, wonderful moment. “I need to stay out of the Marshmallow’s sight, but I’ll meet you back out here in a few minutes.”

And he disappeared into the dispersing late lunch crowd.

Well, we’re being used, presumably for access to tomes of unspeakable lore, but hey, an in is an in.

>x scrap
It’s the Dewey Decimal number of the book Brandon wants you to get him: R 623.8 CAM03.

So turns out 623.8 is naval architecture and shipbuilding, so that didn’t go exactly where I thought it was gonna.

(snipping for length)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Nineteenth, there’s more)

>s

School Library
Jessica let herself be submerged in the peace and quiet and smell of old paper that filled the library. The check out counter with its own set of shelves and private card catalog inaccessible to students took up the entryway, then the maze of library stacks spread away in every other direction besides north, which returned to the mundane world of school.

Jessica slid her books through the slot hoping Mrs. Bowler would overlook that they were two days overdue.

Her eye was drawn to an ominous greenish-leather tome sitting by itself on the sorting shelves behind the counter.

>x tome
She couldn’t tear her gaze from the thick, ancient volume on the shelf by itself–like the other books didn’t want to be near it. The cover was rough-tooled moss-green leather stitched from uneven scraps, and the spine had a flat eye-shaped oval right above the title, which was unreadable at this distance.

Jeez, you can’t even get a graphic novel about being gay in a school library these days without reactionaries freaking out, but somehow there’s a straight-up mythos tome in a Catholic school library? The 70s really were a different time.

We should probably grab that.

Jessica reached for the book. There was no way her arm would stretch that far, but she tried, shoulder dislocating, elbow popping fingers tingle numb ears crackle thoughts scrambled–Y’ ahor ymg’ ah, gof’n, ph’nglui yar… The lidded eye on the spine opened, staring balefully at her, bloodshot, blinking–

“Jessica, are you okay?” Mrs. Bowler was right there.

“I’m fine,” she replied finally, shaking the static out of her head. “I’m looking for this book.” She pushed the scrap forward on the counter and the librarian peered at it curiously. “Give me a second.” Mrs. Bowler flipped effortlessly through the drawers of the private staff card catalog, then moved to an enormous paper ledger off to the side, licking her fingers and flipping bible-thin leaves. Jessica scuffed her toe, hoping Brandon wouldn’t give up and leave before she returned…

She was lost in her thoughts when Mrs. Bowler appeared again, displaying a lavender paperback copy of Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, “Have you ever read this one? It’s a really heartwarming story about a girl just like you!”

“Yeah, I think so. Probably in fifth grade.”

“Oh, well, good!” Mrs. Bowler stashed the book under the counter. “We don’t shelve the book you asked about, but the city library does.”

“Really?” Jessica groaned. “I need it.”

“Well, I can put in a request to transfer it here and you’ll have it by next week. Or if your parents have a Backwater Public Library card you could go get it yourself–wait a second…” She turned to the sorting shelves behind her.

“What was I thinking, here it is!” She grabbed a slim volume from the shelf, stamped a due date on the slip inside the cover, and placed it into Jessica’s hands. “I thought it sounded familiar. I guess someone asked for it to be transferred last week and never showed up to check it out!” The office phone blurbled and she moved toward it. “Lucky for you!”

Hey, the school librarian is nice and helpful – hopefully she gets to live when our rage ignites this den of viciousness into a conflagration fueled by the burning of human fat!

>x tome
It was the library book Brandon wanted. A stamp in indigo ink inside the cover declared it ON LOAN from The Backwater Public Library above their weird but kind of cool official library insignia: double eclipsing moons joined by an all-seeing eye reading an open book–in Backwater, Vermont.

>read it
Jessica didn’t have time to read–she was on a mission for Brandon!

Let’s get this back to Brandon and take our reward:

>n

School Hallway
The hallway stretched further east to classrooms and the cafeteria and back west to the Chapel. The Gymnasium yawned its familiar oppressive woodsmell to the north below a paper banner in direct opposition to the school Library, which was an oasis of quiet solitude to the south.

Brandon was leaning against her locker pushing buttons on his digital watch.

>x digital watch
Brandon’s hair was dark, parted in the center, and made a perfect heart around his smooth forehead before going long and shaggy into perfect feathered waves at his temples where his round silver spectacles (like John Lennon and which he probably really didn’t even need because the lenses barely even shifted the profile line of his face and she couldn’t believe as clear as his sparkling green eyes were that they wouldn’t work properly) and his hair was probably too long and the nuns hadn’t yet made him cut it and YOU WILL STRANGLE THE NUN WHO MAKES HIM CUT IT WITH YOUR BARE HANDS IF NEED BE.

>g
Brandon grinned at something funny, forming a perfect dimple on his perfect cheek, shaking his hair side to side then it all landed exactly where it was again.

>g
Brandon glanced to the side, brushing his hair back off his smooth neck and raising his strong jaw to greet someone distantly across the hall he knew.

>g
Brandon fumbled with his top button and loosened it–oooh, he’s wearing a black shirt under his required white button down! They’re going to make him button his top button again if they see him!

>x brandon
Brandon’s throat made a perfect V, plunging into his shirt where–there was a lump of something on his chest. Was he wearing a necklace under his shirt? What was the thing on his necklace? Is that a dark chest hair curling over the collar of his shirt? Oh! There’s more than one!

Down, girl.

>give book to brandon
“Hey! Brandon. We lucked out! The book was on loan from–”

“Amazing! You’re really a groovy chick, you know, Jessica?” he grinned and she felt her neck flush as she held out the book for him.

“One other thing. Don’t hand it to me here,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I can’t even be seen with a library book. It’s a secret. What I need you to do is hide it for me. You know where the black tile is? On the floor in the Narthex?”
I do now
Please answer yes or no.> yes
“Good, okay. Hide that book under the black tile for me, and I’ll…do… Hey, do you mind if I ask you another question, Jessica?”

“Sure, Brandon.”

“I know it’s short notice, but is someone… I mean, do you um… Do you have plans for Friday night?”

“Friday, um. Well–” Jessica checked her wrist for a watch that wasn’t there, “that’s the night of the Maple Harvest Dance, isn’t it?”

"It is. And I…I hate social functions, but I get the feeling you do too. But I was wondering…if you weren’t going with anyone, would you want to come with me Friday night? We can be anti-social together.

"Well… ok
Please answer yes or no.> yes
“Yes, yes! I’d love to go to the dance with you, Brandon!”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, his lips gentle on her brow. “Thank you, Jessica. I know it’s hard to make your mark in this school, but I promise you after Friday, everyone in Backwater will know who Jessica and Brandon are. I gotta get to Trig. I’ll talk to you after school!”

Brandon slipped away into the crowd, and Jessica felt as though she were floating three feet off the floor–until she remembered it was the heels.

Oh man, this is awesome!

>w
Jessica gasped as a clawed hand squeezed her shoulder, whirling her around. Sister Mary Marcia stepped in close, pinning her against the lockers. “Those shoes are not appropriate for school wear. You are out of dress-code, Missy.”

“I’m sorry Sister Mary Marcia, I didn’t–”

“I don’t have time for this. Just give me the shoes,” she demanded.

Urg, it just got decidedly less awesome.

Jessica tried her best to keep control, “But, please, Sister, these belong to my sister–my own sister–and she will kill me if I don’t give them back…”

“Well, she can have them back at the end of the school year like everything else. Take them off this instant.”

>remove shoes
No! She can’t have my beautiful shoes!

>go all carrie on this place
You can’t use multiple objects with that verb.

>bide time for the dance, on maturer reflection
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can’t see whom.

>wheedle
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>simper
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
“But, you don’t understand,” Jessica pleaded.

The old nun remained firm. “Hand them over,” she declared, arms folded.

>push sister mary marcia

nooooo

Sister Mary Marcia’s grip tightened on Jessica’s wrist.

>push marcia
Everything grew light as she accepted help again, but this time she held back, tempering the outward flow to a tenth of what it was with Thelma. A ping-pong ball, not a baseball…

!!!paf!!!

A puff of air imploded between them and Sister stepped back, jaw dropped.

“You’ve been associating with that boy. That devil boy. What did Brandon Cragne ask you to do?”

Jessica opened her mouth to explain he had just asked to accompany her to the dance like a gentleman, but her vocal cords went slack. Words made of air bubbles and tiny involuntary muscle constrictions crackled up from her diaphragm through her throat–

vulgtmoth shuggoth Marcia! ahf’ ah ahmgn’ghft bthnk Iiahe ymg" ph’nglui ah agl fahf n’ghft Iiahe n’ghftoggn’thor, vermont?

Jessica and Sister Mary Marcia stared reciprocally through wide eyes.

“Jessica, my child. Please accept my sincere and humble advice. Do not listen to Brandon Cragne.” She blinked, then took Jessica’s hands in hers. “Do not ever speak of what I’m about to say to anyone!” She took a breath through her nose. “Ignore for a moment all the trappings–all this Catholic Christianity bullcrap I usually say to you and please listen to my words–for the sake of all of us! You are playing with fire that you cannot comprehend nor control, child, and we all stand to get burned if you insist on dallying with these forces. This is not religion. This is something profane beyond the known Universe.”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t understand, Sister Marcia–”

“I am speaking to the entity or entities inside of Jessica now! Leave this innocent child alone and return to your assigned plane of existence!” She crossed herself and again clasped Jessica’s hands in her own cool ones. “You have no business here!”

Maybe Sister Mary Marcia is more well-meaning – and more savvy – than she first appeared, but this is too little, too late:

>push sister mary marcia
There was a pop like a spark on the doorknob, and the nun startled back, clutching her rosary.

Oh Jesus I didn’t even do that! “I’m sorry! Please forgive me, Sister!” but she was backing away, shaking her head and crossing herself.

“I’ll see you at the Maple Harvest Dance, Sister Mary Marcia!” Jessica called sweetly after her as she disappeared. “I’ll be there with my dancin’ shoes on!”

Why did she say that? What was the old woman talking about? Jessica couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do.

Yes we do!

>w

Narthex
The bland checkerboard-floored antechamber (though the nuns always called it the narthex) that connected the chapel to the main school hallway proudly displayed a decade’s worth of framed photographs of historical Catholic figures and famous nuns, posters for school activities, and important mimeographed lists of extra-curricular activity rosters taped to the walls.

Bellowed hosannas from choir rehearsal taking place behind the closed chapel doors to the west competed with the roar of the school hallway to the east.

The ladder to the bell tower rose against the wall in its usual place. A sign mounted at face-height read “STAFF ONLY. NO STUDENTS!”

>x tile
One odd black tile near the foot of the ladder.

>open it
The black tile opened like a lid, revealing a dark space underneath.

>put book in tile
There. Jessica replaced the black tile with a sense of satisfaction. Nobody would ever find it unless they knew where to look…

It was Jessica and Brandon’s secret…

Well, Brandon and Jessica, and Nitocris makes three… we’re back in the bathroom now, ourself again, and we know what we need to do. We head back out to the narthex, and then:

>open tile
The black tile opens like a lid, revealing a dark space underneath.

Low on the horizon, the mercurial sliver of moon doubles, passing mirrored through itself to illuminate the fiendish scribble the eye gazes down to comprehend.
Black thoughts in an inky square, revealed by colored moonlight glinting through the church window glass.

> take slim
Taken.

>x it
It’s a thin but colorful hardback manual, To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide by Melvyn Camber. A stamp in dark purple ink on the inside of the front cover reads ON LOAN from The Backwater Public Library above the official library insignia: it’s supposed to be two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book, but it’s hard not to see it as a scuttling four-legged eye-creature preparing to leap onto the pages below. A loosely-gummed paper slip is pasted to the frontspiece of the book.

>read slim
The book falls naturally open to a picture of a noose.

The common noose looks great as a scary yard decoration during Halloween or to improve your fishing or boating experience. The noose is a secure and easy-tightening loop that holds it shape for tossing over a boat mooring. But kids, listen to Uncle Melvyn: DO NOT WEAR A NOOSE around your neck or tie one around anyone else’s neck under any circumstances, even as a joke…

As you finish reading the passage, your own hands grow cold, and the book briefly frosts over before fading again, leaving traces behind only in the library insignia.

Er, OK? That’s much less sinister than I was expecting – did Brandon really need to get a book to learn how to tie a noose? I get it was pre-Internet times, but still, didn’t they have Boy Scouts?

Well, we’ve got what we came for now, time to move on, even if there are still some loose ends in Jessica’s story. Let’s go up to the belfry next.

(continued tonight for real this time)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Nineteenth, penultimate instalment?)

>u
You mount the ladder, making sure your feet catch each rung…

This noose doesn’t belong here. It wasn’t here before. Someone is playing a trick on you, surely. You climb three rungs up the ladder for a closer look.

Wait, that’s weird.

>wear noose
The noose slips easily over your head and tightens around your neck before you can–your feet slip from the rungs…

I don’t like it I don’t like it! (We’ve lost control of things again, if that’s not clear – even I’m not self-destructive enough to jump straight to WEAR NOOSE!)

He had been waiting a really long time. Maybe she chickened out… And who could blame her? Brandon had been hearing the voices for weeks now, she’d only just started. The rope itched and he’d suffered through a total of fourteen horrible church-friendly music selections by DJ Deacon JesusLove echoing from the gymasium already. I should just do it. Get the process started… But he hadn’t explained the part about the glyph! He would have to trust she’d follow through with the plan and he hadn’t thought to–

We’re not in Jessica’s POV now, but Brandon’s? And he uh also does not seem super in control of whatever this situation is. I thought he was just going to drop Jessica after she’d gotten him his book, and that’s what would trigger her flipping out, but seems like this is a different story…

There she was! Jessica emerged from the men’s restroom resplendent in her glittery black dress, looking like a new and completely different beautiful person. Brandon knew not to let his thoughts idle long, lest one of them take control and speak for him…

Aw, he is actually into her – that’s kinda sweet, modulo the gotta-keep-the-voices-in-my-head-at-bay stuff.

>examine jessica
“Oh, my God, you look amazing, Jessica!” The dress was too short–just above the knee–for the Maple Harvest Dance in a Catholic school and they wouldn’t have let her in, so they had to sneak here through the secret way from the chapel. Her hair glowed autumn orange and gold and it billowed in freshly-cut waves around her face, tied with beads adorned with small scarlet maple leaves.

The music from the gym changed from a vigorous polka to a slow song. Finally. Soothing electric piano–a BeeGees tune. She approached the ladder and gazed up where he sat perched with his back to the fifth rung.

“Um, I might say the same thing about you look amazing, Mister Brandon Cragne with-your-shirt-off!” she smirked, placing her hands on the sides of the ladder.

“It gets better,” he raised an eyebrow. “Do you still have that lipstick with you?”

“Sure do,” she said, holding it up and smacking her red lips in air-kisses.

[Raises eyebrow] this is getting significantly spicier than expected – Rocky Horror had been out a couple years at this point, so I guess they know what they’re about.

>give diagram to jessica
“Can you copy this? I need you to write this glyph on my chest.”

Oh, that’s what we’re doing.

Jessica peered at the college-ruled drawing torn from his spiral notebook. “I can. But… how big do you want it? Neck to belly-button–?”

You’re the artist. I trust you," She intently started gliding the red pigment across his skin. “It just needs to be accurate, not huge–yeah, just like that, that’s perfect.”

“Hey,” she said, touching up where the lines were thin, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could put this off? Just for tonight? Let’s go in and dance and get kicked out. We can leave this town, run away, change our names, go up to Canada…”

Brandon grinned. “Why on earth would you–oh God that tickles! Ha!–Why would anyone want to go all the way up to Canada?”

“Dunno! I’ve never been! I’ve heard it’s a cool place and it’s gonna be all the rage someday!”

Super doubtful – sorry, Canadians – but still seems better than what these crazy kids are heading into.

Please answer yes or no.> yes
“Yeah, it’s a cool place with really long winters. And maple syrup and hockey–I know. That would be fun. But the Harvest Dance doesn’t happen every night of the year. We won’t get this chance ever again.”

“Well, then,” Jessica climbed far enough up the ladder so they were almost face-to-face. “I guess I’m gonna have to do this right now.”

Their lips touched–but she started giggling, then so was he. “I’m serious!”

The tips of their noses touched. “So serious!” He leaned down and kissed and it was much much better.

how deep is your howlove deepisyourlove how deep is your love? i really need to learn…

She pulled back, but their eyes never left each other, “Thank you for inviting me to the dance, Brandon Cragne.”

“Thank you for accepting my invitation, Jessica Santos.”

(In a bit of irony, “Santos” of course means “saint” or “holy”)

>kiss jessica
They kissed as long as they could, smiling the whole time. When it was time, she retreated down the ladder and stepped back, sparkling in her outfit and heels.

“Give’m hell, Jessica.”

“That’s what I’m planning,” she said, throwing her tiny purse over her shoulder and striding through the double doors to the east toward the gymnasium.

>wait
The fire doors between the narthex and the school hallway clicked closed. Brandon waited as long as he could. He didn’t want to chance that she would have to see him or hear what was about to happen. And at that moment his resolve faltered. There was no reason for this. He had free will! He didn’t have to listen to the voices! He could take this noose right off…

That’s a nice thought, but of course philosophers contest that idea, and Nitocris more than most knows you can’t simply walk away from these things. Plus there’s the fact that all of this is being narrated in the past tense…

>jump
He stepped off the ladder and thrashed as the rope tightened. There was no longer a hole in his head through which he could inhale or exhale–red and black flashes big red and black flashes multiplying and expanding and a vast rushing in his ears heartbeat black darkness try to breathe nope he was tumbling down into a black space of nowhere–red flashes pulsing red flashes with veins on the sides those are my eye veins glowing hot pissing my pants how embarrassing red flashes and black flashes and bright black flashes and black–

>Ah, dear Naomi. As much as we do enjoy your company, there’s hardly room for even one extra in young Master Cragne’s corporeal form. We hadn’t planned for your expeditious arrival so early! Let me first assure you that this isn’t how you die. There’s so much more you need to accomplish first. Goodness! You’re turning quite an amusing shade of purple now, so how about we suspend this exchange temporarily? We’ll see you back in, oh, say, fifteen or sixteen years? We look forward to meeting you again–both you and your delicious husband.

You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can’t see whom.

The noose melts out of existence–GASP–and you tumble to the floor, cold green beautiful oxygen tearing painfully into your lungs. Gasping and wheezing. Then just laying with your cheek on the cool tile breathing and enjoying breathing for a good long time.

You’re still alive, Naomi.

Well, for certain values of alive. But chalk up one more point for the theory that the Cragnes – or the things that haunt the Cragnes – have a positive agenda for us…

After the fake-out of getting the book, that appears to be the end of this mini-story. I definitely enjoyed it – it starts out seeming like a satisfying but derivative riff on Carrie, then takes an unexpected detour towards the sweet and tragic. Plus I’m a sucker for the “hide the book in the past, find it in the future” trope. Nice job Hanon!

Okay, but the belfry for realsies:

>u
You mount the ladder, making sure your feet catch each rung, and climb to the ceiling don’t look down! through the square opening…

Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)
(First-time players should type ABOUT!)

Disjointed and decaying pillars of wood form the arches that make up the walls of the church’s steeple. The arches, open to the sky, tower over you, ending in a webwork of thick rafters which support the belfry above and ultimately the church’s spire. A series of ropes slither down from those rafters, centered over a square hole in the floor that leads down into the bowels of the church.

Teetering on the edge of the hole is a nasty-looking key.

A misshapen mass slumps in one corner of the steeple.

Michael Hilborn wrote a couple of games in the early teens, including one of the games that was part of the hat meta-puzzle in the 2011 IF Comp (I’ll say no more for folks who want to remain unspoiled about that).

Let’s check the ABOUT, in case there’s some especially fiendish puzzle or specialized commands we need to know about:

>about
Welcome to the “Steeple.” The author wishes to thank everyone who made Cragne Manor possible, especially Ryan and Jenni and those who first dared enter this room: Greg Frost, Michael Lin, Hanon Ondricek, and Andrew Schultz.

(No grues were harmed in the making of this room.)

Nope, just a nice little note!

What’ve we got?

>x pillars
Six arches, separated by six pillars of decaying wood, loom over you, supporting the rafters above. Although forming a perfect hexagonal enclosure, the arches and pillars seem to lean in disjointed directions. Through them, you can see the sky and surrounding landscape. . . neither of which are familiar to you.

A hexagonal steeple? That’s atypical.

>x sky
(the alien sky)
Wherever this steeple resides, it’s not beneath the celestial dome with which you are familiar. . .

There are stars up there, but like the two moons, they are completely unfamiliar to you. And the light of those heavenly bodies–a pale green–is dull, lifeless, as if you view everything through a murky veil.

Like the what now?

>x moons
(the two moons)
Two crescents, one waning, one waxing–if earthly phases of the moon have any meaning here–and grotesquely large.

The same as the library symbol! One could speculate about the implications…

>x landscape
The steeple must rise higher than you think, for it penetrates a cloud bank that stretches to the horizon, and most likely beyond. As calm as the sea on a breezeless day, the clouds ripple with a hazy, pale green glow. Occasionally, part of the surface erupts in a silent flash of light.

Not far from the church, the hump of. . . something. . . briefly breaks the surface, then submerges.

A giant, humped sea creature, you say? I wonder if it’s the same kind of beast whose skeleton gave us the bridge – that needed to come from somewhere, after all, and it seems like the walls between this world and our own are pretty thin.

>x rafters
A web of shadowy beams criss-crossing at random angles. At one time, they must have supported the floor of the belfry, but those floorboards seem to have broken away: high above the rafters hang the shapes of several bells.

Oho, bells you say?

>x bells
Hard to discern how many bells hang up there in the shadows of the belfry, but they are large, very large, and you’re not certain, but something. . . else. . . is up there. . . a lot of something else. . . It takes your eyes a moment to adjust: shadowy forms cling to the ceiling. As you stare, one of the forms moves, briefly spreading a pair of wings.

>x bats
There must be dozens–hundreds?–up there, clinging to the ceiling of the belfry. Probably bats though their forms are mostly indistinguishable from the shadows. Whatever they are, they’re quiet, save for an occasional chirp or flutter of wings.

We freed that one bat, so maybe he came back and told all his friends that we’re cool?

>x ropes
Four ropes slither down from the shadows of the rafters. One rope is woven of copper strands, another silver, and yet another gold. The fourth: a weave of solid iron.

Ah-yup, there we go! Remember what the peach mote told us?

'Under the crescent moons,
Beneath the starlit skies,
The bells lament with their songs,
The bells lament with their cries.

A song of copper and iron,
A song of silver and gold,
The bells sing of the One’s true sign,
The bells sing of the Ones of old.’

All that checks out, down to the plural moons.

Let’s wait to futz with the bells until we’ve checked out everything else here, since there are at least two more things of interest.

>x nasty-looking key
A large key, nearly the length of your hand, its teeth. . . well, a row of rotted, human teeth. Etched beneath the teeth, upon the shaft of the key, is a runic script.

>read it
Harsh, jagged lines form a disturbing script which seems to shift and waver, straining your sight. At the end of the script is a hieroglyph: Two crescents, back to back, centered above an eye, and below the eye, an icon resembling a keyhole.

Aha, the library symbol again – and this matches a symbol we’ve seen on two locked doors, both underground…

>take it
You gingerly pluck the key from the edge of the hole.

There’s thing one. Thing two…

>x mass
As you approach the misshapen mass, your gut wrenches as you realize it is, of course, a corpse. . . a hideously deformed corpse.

So misshapen is this poor figure that it’s difficult to tell where its head ends and its torso begins. Its back is horrendously humped, its face an amorphous mass of tumors with sunken holes for eyes. What appears to be its mouth is open in a silent scream.

Hard to say how long the corpse has been here in the steeple, but it seems ancient, skin and clothes desiccated and thin like parchment, somehow mummified. It’s slouched–or sitting?–on the floor in one corner of the steeple.

On the corpse’s lap rests an open tome. Another book lies near the corpse: A worn, leather-bound journal.

Hanging around the corpse’s oversized neck is a leather cord and pendant.

Ooof, I don’t recognize this poor fellow, but it seems like his face rings a bell.

>x tome
Cradled in the corpse’s lap, the humungous tome lies open as if the corpse still studies the pages. It’s clearly ancient, the pages withered and yellow, like the skin of the corpse itself, its leather bonding cracked.

>read it
You dare not flip the pages of the ancient book; to touch the pages might be to destroy them. . . or disturb the corpse who holds the tome. But the pages that are open reveal dozens of star charts and associated astrological signs. Oddly, the corpse who holds the tome seems to be pointing to one drawing in particular:

            *  
*  *  
 *  
 *  *        *  

Underneath, in elegant handwriting, is written:

(The astrological sign is the Despair descending under the Abyss.)

Hmm, the poem mentioned something about a “true sign” – seems like they might be linked? We can’t turn the pages of the tome, and if we try to take it:

Years of desiccation and natural mummification have melded the corpse and some of its possessions into a single, sepulchral monument to whatever has happened here. You sense it’s best not to disturb things.

So seems like this one page must be the important one.

x journal
About the size of your hand. The binding is cracked and torn, the pages yellow with age.

>read it
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the first page that has legible handwriting in it:

“To be hidden here, by my Ma and Da, in this steeple, in this special place, under the two moons. To be safe here, they say, in this strange land, safe from the others, who do not understand. To think I am special, my Ma and Da do, but the others, they say, do not. To name me grotesque, to call me hideous, to say I am a monster! To chase me with pitchforks and torches!”

There are more pages to read.

Aww, poor guy.

When I played, I read that as “there are no more pages to read” – oops! Let me go back and see what I missed:

> read journal
Being as cautious as you can with the journal, you flip to the next page that has
legible handwriting in it:

“To visit me, my Ma and Da do, to bring me food and water, to talk with me, to wash
me, to bring new robes to wear, to bring books. To say I should never leave the
steeple. To not go down the stairs. To danger they lead. To the others who wait in
the village below.

“And to not ring the bells. To summon things, the bells do, evil things.”

You know, it might have been nice to have read this before I (spoiler alert) started messing around with the bells!

“To watch the moons. To count and study the stars. To write in this journal. To read
books. To wonder about the shadows in the clouds. To not ring the bells. To be all
that I do, hour after hour, day after day, if time mean anything here. To always be
the moons and the stars and the clouds, and sometimes the wind. To never see a
sun. To not remember the sun very well.

“To be lonely. . .”

…

“To want to go down the stairs. To want to leave this place, to explore what used to
be home, to see my village, to be with people. But Ma and Da scold me. To warn me
of the others.

To entertain me, they tell stories of our family, the Cragne’s, of their Aunt and her
teachings. To speak of the two moons, their Aunt did, and this strange place, a realmof the Old Ones. To be the one who discovered a way to this place. To share her
secret only with Ma and Da, her favorite niece and nephew.”

Er, like niece and nephew-in-law you mean, right? …probably not, which explains some things.

“To be visited by a strange, elderly woman, but not know where she came from. To
name herself Esther and to be kind to me. To say I can one day go down the stairs if
I listen to her, but to not to speak of this to anyone, not even Ma and Da. To agree, I
say, but what must I do?

“To ring the bells for me, she says, for I do not have the strength. But bells bring
evil, I say. To be safe from the evil with this, she says, and gives me a pendant. Now,
ring the bells.

“To ring the bells, I do, in the way she teaches me. To like to hear them sing. To
bring the winds, they do, but not to bring evil. To be soothing.”

More helpful context!

“To see Ma and Da. To look older, they do, much older than when I first come here.
To ask if I look older. No, they say, to look the same age as always.

“To be visited by Esther when Ma and Da not around. To ask when I can go down
the stairs. To be soon, she says, soon. Ring the bells, she says.”

…

“To hear things on the wind now when I ring the bells. Names. Horrid names.
Ialdabaoloth. Vaadignephod. To not speak them out loud. To be fearful. But to
continue to ring the bells. To do as Esther says: To want to leave this place; to go
back home.”

…

“Must ring the bells. . . ring the bells. . . Ialdabaoloth. Vaadignephod. To want to go
home to the village. To leave!”

…

“To be caught ringing bells by Ma and Da. To scream at me they do, to try to wrest
ropes from me. To struggle we do. To tell them Esther has told me to. To be not
possible, Ma and Da yell; Aunt Esther has been dead for many years. To continue
our struggle. To hear Esther laughing. . .

“To not mean to. . . To snap Ma’s neck. . . to break Da. . . But they did not want me to
ring bells, like Esther said. . .

“Ring the bells. . . ring. . . ring . . .”

Ooof, tragic but not too surprising.

“To see Esther. To instruct me to throw bodies of Ma and Da into the clouds. To ring
the bells in turn. . . Gold and silver and copper with iron between each. . .

“Dear God, it came. I saw it. . .

“Huge, blotting out moons, stars. Writhing. Screeching. To see Esther fall to her
knees, laughing and weeping. To see tentacle from maw reach out, claim Esther,
draw her in while she weeps and laughs, laughs and weeps. . .”

…now I am actually kind of glad I didn’t read this first time through.

“To be alone. To not go down stairs. To not ring bells. To not eat. . . to not drink. . . Toonly sit and remember. . . that thing. . . that horrible thing. . . I scream in my dreams… .”

“To be tired. . . To not sleep. . . to be sick, I think. . . To want to go down stairs now,
but to not have strength. . . To sit here. . . To die, most likely. . . but grateful to not
see that thing. . .

“That thing. . .”

And that’s the end. Weough, that’s a rough hand he was dealt, and it turned out even worse than you’d think.

Going back to the main branch of the timeline, where I am innocent of all this knowledge:

>x cord
A leather cord hangs around the corpse’s oversized neck, its ends held together by a triangular pendant. Etched in the pendant is an eye.

>take leather cord and pendant
You carefully remove the leather cord and pendant from the corpse.

>wear it
You put on the leather cord and pendant.

Might as well, we’re starting to brush up against the inventory limit so we want to wear as much stuff as we can.

Right, so on to the bells: the song said copper, then iron, then silver, then gold, so let’s give that a try:

>pull copper rope
The rope resists your efforts at first, then relents with a creak. A thunderous yet somber peal of a bell reverberates throughout the steeple, quickly followed by a chorus that sounds like a thousand fingernails scraping across a thousand blackboards.

Something up in the belfry has awakened.

The echo of beating wings thunders down on you as dozens, hundreds, thousands–their numbers seem limitless–of bat-like creatures take flight. They swarm around and in the steeple, descending upon you in a flapping, screaming storm.

I don’t think the bat told his buddies that we’re cool!

The leather cord and pendant around your neck grows warm and glows, and the shrieking of the creatures transforms from rage to frustration. Several of them, hairless and leathery, ungodly human in form, scream and dive at you, only to be repelled by an invisible force. Again they attack. Again they are repelled.

It’s an eternity before they give up. The swarm soars away from the steeple in a dark cloud, disappearing into the horizon.

You look up. Now that the belfry has been cleared of those horrendous things, star- and moonlight stream down through the perforated holes in the belfry’s ceiling and the disjointed rafters, forming a particular pattern.

Oh, phew. That was a much more pleasant surprise since I hadn’t read the journal and didn’t know what was going to happen!

That note about the pattern of holes changing is interesting – I have an idea…

>pull iron rope
The rope resists your efforts at first, then relents with a creak. A thunderous yet melancholy peal of a bell reverberates throughout the steeple. So violent are the reverberations that the pillars quiver. Dust and debris shower upon you while above, some of the rafters slide and shift with dull moans before slowly settling into new positions.

>pull silver rope
The rope resists your efforts at first, then relents with a creak. A thunderous yet lonely peal of a bell reverberates throughout the steeple. So violent are the reverberations that the pillars quiver. Dust and debris shower upon you while above, some of the rafters slide and shift with dull moans before slowly settling into new positions.

>pull gold rope
The rope resists your efforts at first, then relents with a creak. A thunderous yet forlorn peal of a bell reverberates throughout the steeple followed by the peal of another bell, and another, and even more until the steeple fills with a cacophony. The steeple trembles; dust and debris fall from above as the rafters scream, violently shifting and sliding. You hunker down, your own screams drowned by the unholy chorus until, quite abruptly, it all stops.

Can we see the pattern?

>x pattern
Filtered by both the perforations in the ceiling and the disjointed rafters, the light from the stars and moons streams down into the steeple in an unusual pattern:

*        *  
*  *  
   *  
      *  

Ah, it changed! What if we look in the tome?

>read tome
Oddly, the pages seemed to have changed or turned by themselves, for you are certain you are looking at a series of charts and signs that are different than before. The corpse points to one drawing in particular:

*        *  
*  *  
   *  
      *  

Underneath, in elegant handwriting, is written:

(The astrological sign is the Mouth descending opposing the Hanged Man.)

There we are – I’m betting that’s the true sign of our husband, which we’ll need to complete the ritual in Laceris.

But why did the poem also say this is the “the One’s true sign”, and then say “the bells sing of the Ones of old”? And it sure seems awfully coincidental that we learned Peter’s sign is “the Mouth descending opposing the Hanged Man” right after we saw Jessica and Brandon kiss right before the latter hung himself, huh?

Well, no answers to any of those questions now, so we’ll move on.

But first, let’s go timey-wimey again to see what happens if we try to ring the bells in the pattern Esther told our poor unfortunate campanologist:

>ring iron rope
The rope resists your efforts at first, then relents with a creak. A thunderous yet
melancholy peal of a bell reverberates throughout the steeple.

And something answers. . .

A chorus of howls. . . of screams. . . of cries. . . you aren’t certain what you hear, but
whatever it is, the horrible discordance permeates everything, and comes from
everywhere. The noise pounds at you, envelopes you, and you stumble backward,
holding your hands to your ears, as everything vibrates so violently that you begin
to see in double. . .

And then IT arises. . . Oh dear GOD IT arises. . .

From the sea of clouds, which now boils like an angry cauldron, it arises, blotting
out the stars and moons, an amorphous tower of flesh and bones and eyes and
mouths, all dripping and oozing a dark ichor. Tendrils as thick as the steeple and as
long as freight trains undulate across the horizon, pulsating with suckers lined with
teeth.

The leather cord and pendant around your neck glows and becomes red hot,
burning your skin. Then it shatters; some evil is far too massive to ward off.

And a thought strikes you, suddenly and overwhelming. . .

It’s beautiful. . . so. . . beautiful. . .

The thought stays with you even as one of those tendrils slithers into the steeple
and wraps its meaty yet soft mass around your waist. You weep and laugh, laugh
and weep, as the tentacle squeezes and continues to squeeze until you hear the soft
squelch of your midsection bursting like a crushed grape.

*** You have been sliced in two ***

“Sliced” seems to be underselling the horror, but yeah, not great!

(to be concluded, hopefully quite soon)

[Jenni]

@DeusIrae

And it sure seems awfully coincidental that we learned Peter’s sign is “the Mouth descending opposing the Hanged Man” right after we saw Jessica and Brandon kiss right before the latter hung himself, huh?

iirc the true sign is procedural, so extra coincidental! (there is no guarantee that I remember correctly)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Nineteenth, concluded)

We make our way back down the ladder, then go west from the narthex:

Chapel (s. hammack)
You are in the main worship area of the church. Whom or what this chapel is used to worship is not immediately apparent. The accommodations are fairly modest: several rows of pews face toward the west end of the room, where a pulpit stands in front of an altar. In the corner of the room is a cheap-looking electric organ. The one lavish decoration is an elaborate stained glass window taking up most of the wall behind the altar.

The vestibule is to the east. On the southern wall is a wooden door, which is closed.

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).

Scott Hammack has a couple credits to his name – a co-written IntroComp entry, and an IFComp game that sounds like a fun farce.

Speaking of fun, fun fact – in traditional Christian church architecture, the entrance is in the west and the altar is to the east, so this reversal might signify a similar inversion in the nature of the deity worshipped here. Or not, because by the time this church was likely build those directional imperatives weren’t observed at all strictly.

>x pews
Simply constructed wooden pews built to support the posteriors of the church’s parishioners. The back of each pew has a space to hold books, hymns, etc., in which you can see a small pencil.

>x pencil
A stubby number 2 pencil, presumably used for doodling in holy texts.

>take it
Taken.

[Your score has just gone up by one point.]

…my what has gone up? That’s an odd, meta touch – wonder if the rest of the location will have similar vibes?

>x pulpit
A pulpit constructed of dark mahogany.

On the pulpit is Limerickus Dirtius.

>x limerickus
An ancient tome of arcane knowledge.

>read it
(first taking Limerickus Dirtius)
As you pick up the book, you feel power coursing through your veins.

“There once was a woman named Mulva”…

The rest is too filthy to reprint here.

I have to confess I wasn’t expecting any Seinfeld references in this game, but after all it is set in the late 90s…

>x organ
A modest substitute for a proper pipe organ. The design of this instrument is straight out of the '70s, with beige casing and lots of chunky rainbow-colored buttons to adjust the sound.

>play it
>

Oops, missing rule there!

>x buttons
Which do you mean, the buttons or the six buttons?

>six buttons
You can’t use multiple objects with that verb.

>x buttons
Which do you mean, the buttons or the six buttons?

…let’s just move on and hope the organ isn’t important.

>x window
The window is made up of hundreds of small shards of glass, stained with an impressive variety of colors. Although the effect is striking, though it’s difficult to tell exactly what is the image that’s meant to be depicted here – whenever you look away and back, it seems as though the colors have changed to produce different shapes. At the moment, it most resembles Winston Churchill.

That last bit changes, depending on Nitocris’s fancy – it can also resemble “moss growing on rotting driftwood” or “a crumbling tower being hit by lightning.”

On to the main event:

>x altar
The altar initially appears to be a simple long table with a tablecloth over it, but on closer inspection, you can see that underneath the tablecloth it’s actually closed in on all sides.

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).

Some of this stuff you’d expect to see in a Catholic church – wine for the eucharist, the collection plate and box – some is a little iffy – is that Nilla wafers for the host? – and I know there are weird stories out there about Popish barbarities but at least in the diocese where I grew up there wasn’t any messed-up tooth stuff.

>collection
A shiny silver plate for taking the parishioners’ money. Taped to it is a note reading “CASH ONLY! (please no more teeth)”

In the collection plate are some assorted teeth.

>x assorted teeth
In the collection plate are a small assortment of teeth, some of which appear to be human in origin. Some look as though they came from small mammals, reptiles, and even sharks; the rest, you can’t even hazard a guess.

My headcanon is that there were some parishioners who were in on some complex tooth-fairy-based arbitrage scheme.

>x wine bottle
A bottle made of dark green glass is lying on its side on the altar. The label indicates that it once held Cabernet Sauvignon from Arcovitch Vineyards.

I’m striking out on any potential reference here, but feels like there’s gotta be one here.

>wafers
The box is made of light cardboard and emblazoned over its surface with the color yellow. The word “Nilla” is written in bold red letters, with “wafers” in a more subdued blue font underneath. There is a photograph of a pile of wafers as well as a single wafer splashing into a glass of milk. It’s a classic box design.

In the box of Nilla Wafers are some Nilla wafers.

>x nilla wafers
Small, crispy, light brown, round biscuits.

Yeah, those are Nilla wafers.

>eat wafers
You idly munch on a Nilla wafer. It tastes a bit like human flesh.

OK, you’re really not supposed to just leave post-transubstantiation hosts around, and I’m also pretty sure you’re not supposed to use commercially-available cookies as part of the holy sacrament of communion. This priest should really be defrocked (and not in a sexy way).

>smell wine
An intriguing bouquet of copper and blood.

Consistent.

…you know, I wonder:

>celebrate mass
That verb doesn’t work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

Nitocris is used to conducting darker rites than these.

I wonder if we can do something theologically daring based on how Inform containers work?

>put wine in nilla box
You put the wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew) into the box of Nilla Wafers.

Hey look, we put the blood back in the body! And, er, made the blood of Christ smell of mildew. If Nitocris wasn’t damned already, we’d be in real trouble.

>x lockbox
A wooden box about a foot long. The lid has a drawing engraved on it depicting several cloaked figures kneeling in front of a dollar sign. Underneath the engraving is a caption. A few of the letters have worn away, but it appers to read: “The Al-ighty -ollar.”

…this is also not a regulation donation-box – more Mammon than Yahweh (though the Great Old Ones have little concern for filthy lucre, so in some respects this is reassuring?)

We take everything, then mess about for a bit – including seeing if we can use this oddly-significant pencil to draw or doodle in the limerick book, which doesn’t work, and try unlocking the southern door with the same long wooden key that got us into the front door, which does – before trying the obvious:

>put wad in lockbox
The lockbox is closed.

Oh, I pictured it with like a slot on top. Okay:

>put cash on plate
You hear a click from the direction of the lockbox.

>open lockbox
You open the lockbox, revealing a crooked dagger.

>x dagger
The dagger has a glossy black blade made of a material you can’t identify, with a serrated edge. The blade curves upward, but in a strangely non-uniform way that suggests the equation used to described the curve would be quite complicated. You can see your own face reflected in it, distorted by the blade’s odd shape, but you can’t make out your eyes; you see only dark emptiness where they should be.

Also, you have no nose – not even holes.

…okay? I’m not immediately sure how this would be useful – maybe to slice open the dog’s stomach in the slaughterhouse? – but it’s clearly the reward here, ambivalent visions being a small price to pay.

>take dagger
As you pick up the dagger, you suddenly find yourself on a hilltop surrounded by open countryside for miles around. There is no sign of civilization. It is late afternoon and the sky looks as though a hurricane is brewing, though there is no rain.

Standing before you on the hilltop is a single dead tree, with something unidentifiable wrapped in cloth hanging from its branches by a noose. It looks like a vaguely humanoid shape, but something about the way it squirms as it dangles makes you less than certain that a human could move that way.

Before you know what’s happening, you find yourself instinctively taking the dagger and plunging it into the squirming shape. You hear an unearthly shriek as you stab it over and over again, but the shriek isn’t coming from the shape; it seems to come from all around you. There is no blood, but through the holes you put in the cloth, you see a strange yellow light.

As quickly as it started, your vision ends, and you’re back in the chapel, holding the dagger.

…we are getting a lot of imagery about hanging. Hopefully this isn’t a sign about what’s going on with Peter!

We’re done here, so let’s check what’s behind the newly-opened door:

>s
(first opening the nondescript door)

Church Office (Llew Mason)
The church office is a tiny windowless room. Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Stairs lead down, and the church itself is accessible through the door at the north end of the room.

Oh hey, we’ve been here before! This is the tiny windowless office that was accessible through the basement; now we know how it connects. Handy!

So long as we’re here, let’s try that crescent moon key on the door in the subterranean tunnel:

>x tunnel door
A dull red sheet of metal stands to the east. A keyhole is present at eye level. Above the keyhole is an image of an eyeball, above which is printed two back-to-back crescents.

>unlock tunnel door with silver and ivory key
You slide the silver and ivory key into the keyhole and try to turn it. It won’t budge, but when you try to remove it, you hand starts to burn. You jerk your hand away. In the center of you palm, a grinning black skull has been branded in the flesh. You start to feel dizzy, and then all at once your skull explodes, spraying blasphemous lava in every direction and killing you instantly.

*** YOU'RE DEAD ***

Oops, that was the wrong key! Is this a booby-trapped door, or is the key the issue?

> unlock tunnel door with nasty-looking key
(first taking the nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew))
You unlock the tunnel door.

That’s better.

>e
(first opening the tunnel door)

Narrow Straits (Mathbrush)
A smell like a used kitchen sponge assaults your nose as you pass through the door. You can feel your breath rattle in your lungs. There’s something wrong with the air.

You find yourself in a dark, narrow space between two stone walls. Moisture condenses from the ceiling and drips down the stone bricks to the floor. Doors are east and west.

A foul sarcophagus occupies almost all of the space, leaving you cramped against the walls.

Hey, we finally got to @mathbrush’s room! Y’all don’t need me to introduce him, but just for the record he’s a world-beating author (recently notching up back-to-back ParserComp wins!), reviewer, and tester.

Let’s start by testing a hypothesis:

>x east door
Featureless except for a faint rune scratched into its center, this antediluvian door almost disappears into the surrounding wall. Underneath the rune is a keyhole. Strangely enough, the door’s obsidian surface doesn’t match the tunnel walls.

>unlock east door with silver and ivory key
You slide the silver and ivory key into the keyhole and try to turn it. It won’t budge, but when you try to remove it, you hand starts to burn. You jerk your hand away. In the center of you palm, a grinning black skull has been branded in the flesh. You start to feel dizzy, and then all at once your skull explodes, spraying blasphemous lava in every direction and killing you instantly.

*** YOU'RE DEAD ***

Yeah, that key is bad news.

>unlock east door with nasty-looking key
You unlock the east door.

Same one we used to get in, which makes sense because…

>e
(first opening the east door)

Amorphous Tunnel (Bill Maya)
This tunnel bends to the northeast. The walls shimmer slightly, gently undulating in the spectral darkness. To the west, set into the wall, almost invisible in the mortal dimness, is an antediluvian door. Daylight and a slight breeze wafts down some non-euclidean steps that lead up.

…this takes us back to the other crescent-marked door, the one under the boiler room. So we found another shortcut.

Navigation aside, looks like we can explore some stuff here – but first:

>x me
The subject under observation is taciturn, reserved. The face is lost in the shadows. A glint in the eye–madness? Genius? Or a dim reflection from a glassy stare?

Ha, that’s nice! …and this reminds me I forgot to check our description in the other new areas.

Chapel (s. hammack) [Score: 1]
>x me
You look like you don’t belong here.

I really, really don’t (also, seeing the location name reminds me, this is the altar, not a chapel – you can have chapels in a church like this, but they’d be smaller, side areas usually dedicated to a particular saint).

Steeple (Michael D. Hilborn)

>>x me
A lady of stature, at least in this neck of the woods. Thanks to your marriage to Peter, you’re part of the eminent Cragne family now.

I think this is saying that we’re tall.

Okay, back to the Straits (I was going to say, “back to the sarcophagus” but that wouldn’t really narrow things down).

>smell
It smells like a dirty kitchen sponge.

Evocative yet gross.

>x walls
These heavy stone brick walls are seeping with moisture.

>x moisture
Water is seeping from the stone walls and puddling on the ground.

You know, I wonder if I…

>taste it
Your throat burns with fire but your eyes behold a glorious light. The room lifts in the air as your soul crumbles into dozens of smaller pieces. You become one with the countless others trapped in the slime of the Cyst.

In a horrifying way, it feels good.

*** You are one. ***

Okay, yes, this is bad, but we learned something important – this slime is coming from a capital-c cyst, which is presumably locked up inside the sarcophagus. And we need the cyst of a god to complete the Laceris ritual. We’re closing in, and gaining valuable information through our totally-smart habit of licking everything we find.

>x sarcophagus
A stone coffin of ancient and exquisite craftsmanship that has somehow gone terribly wrong. The coffin is seamed with cracks and rifts, out of which ooze foul-smelling black slime. The floor around the coffin is crusted with years worth of dried slime.

The sarcophagus contains a single dark keyhole in its center.

Yeah, this theory checks out.

>x slime
The black slime oozes form the sarcophagus and onto the floor. It reeks.

>touch slime
It sticks to your fingers before pulling away.

Can’t wait to get in there.

The sarcophagus is locked, of course, so we try some keys, including a bunch of the ones we found in that jar of keys in the basement:

>unlock sarcophagus with origami key
As you attempt to use the origami key, it catches and unfolds; you try to refold it but you just mess it up more, and pretty soon all you have is a hopelessly creased square of paper.

>unlock sarcophagus with splintery wooden key
You stick the old wooden key into the lock and try to turn it, but it splinters and falls apart into uselessness. Whatever that would’ve opened, it’s never going to open it now.

>unlock east door with frosty blue key
(first taking the frosty blue key)
Picking up the frosty key with your unprotected hand, it melts immediately into nothingness. Hopefully you won’t need that in the future…

So these are more gag keys, I think (if it turns out I do need them in the future, well, at least I have saved games).

I’m calling it here – we made some good progress, and crossed many many locked doors off our to-do list while also getting Peter’s true star sign. I’m not completely sure where we’ll head next time – we still have some untried keys, and this dagger (and score-bestowing pencil, for that matter) might help us accomplish some items on our to-do list, so we’ll need to do some exploration and coffee-scumming to lead off next time.

Inventory

You are carrying:
a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a nasty-looking key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew)
an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass winding key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a silver and ivory key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a creased square of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a sturdy key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a sinister iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a white key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a big slice of cold pizza (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a clipboard (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Peter’s jacket (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Jansport backpack (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (closed)
a side pocket (closed)
a trash pocket (open)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mildewy carpet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
some assorted teeth (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker’s note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of yellowed newsprint (smelling faintly of mildew)
a suitcase (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a plastic bubble (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a gold jacket (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Carfax gig poster (smelling faintly of mildew)
a vintage Black Sabbath tee shirt (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
some golden peach liquid
some pickled peaches
a pistachio ice cream cone (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra’s Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
some charred newspaper clippings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
the slithering vomit bladder of Katallakh (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken knife handle (smelling faintly of mildew)
a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report (“Francine Cragne”) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a newspaper clipping (“Rumors of Decapitations”) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
some rotten flowers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a whole large reddish-orange pumpkin (smelling faintly of mildew)
a crooked dagger (smelling faintly of mildew)
some Nilla wafers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a box of Nilla Wafers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a wine bottle (smelling faintly of mildew)
Limerickus Dirtius (smelling faintly of mildew)
a stubby pencil (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a leather cord and pendant (being worn)
a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
a label (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn as a mask)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
Ed’s coveralls (being worn)
a pair of leather boots

Maps:
Southwest Backwater

East Backwater

Transcript:
cragne session 19.txt (353.1 KB)

Save:
cragne session 19 save.txt (79.5 KB)

Unfinished locations -- crossed some things off the list this time!

• Train Station Lobby: locked green door
• Shack Exterior: locked door to shack
• Backwater Library: book collectathon, obtain grimoire
• Pub: steal the whetstone
• Meatpacking Plant: cleaver to cut open dog-thing’s stomach
• Shambolic Shed: food for giant caterpiller
• Greenhouse: whetstone for machete
• Sitting room: MURDER EUSTACE WITH LETTER OPENER
• Rec room: locked board game cabinet
• Court: climactic color-animal crosswalk
• Laboratory: avoid being stuck in an eternally-rewritten version of Anchorhead
• Curiosity Shop: find something red and herring-like
• Shadowy Closet: find a lost mirror?
• Narrow Straits: unlock slimy sarcophagus to get cyst

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

@Jenni

iirc the true sign is procedural, so extra coincidental! (there is no guarantee that I remember correctly)

Hah, I thought it was just different authors hitting on the same idea, but it being random makes the synchronicity extra fun - especially since there’s a third hanged man when you get the dagger!

[HanonO (Hanon Ondricek)]

@DeusIrae

or if we’re getting really hardcore, the narthex.

Nee hee!

good thing she didn’t find everything under that

@DeusIrae

On the altar are a collection plate (in which are some assorted teeth), a lockbox (closed), a box of Nilla Wafers (in which are some Nilla wafers) and a wine bottle (empty).

This is my favorite bit of procgen parser horror: assorted teeth yeeuuurrgh-oh, wait, Nilla wafers, I love these…

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

Oh hey, thanks for the prompt – I think there must have been something else that hollow, which I didn’t notice due to some TAKE ALL/DROP ALL shenanigans to manage the inventory limit that I kept off-screen. But when I checked my inventory list, I saw something new:

a vintage Black Sabbath tee shirt (smelling faintly of mildew)

Brandon had his shirt off by the time we were inhabiting him, so I guess Jessica must have grabbed it and stashed it with the book on her way to fry up her classmates?

But wait, there’s more!

> wear tee
You pull the shirt on over your head… Yes, you can still fit a medium…though it’s a
bit snug in the chest. As the shirt settles, you detect a faint whiff of a freshly-mown
lawn in the spring.

You stifle a scream as a clawed hand squeezes your shoulder—”Brandon
Cragne!”—you whirl face-to-face with a moon-faced nun in a black habit. She
releases you and steps back. “Oh. I’m sorry. You’re not the person I thought you
were!”

“No, I’m Naomi Cragne,” you say, unsure whether you’re supposed to offer a
handshake to a nun or curtsy or—”I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here,”
you respond, oddly disappointed to still be yourself—”I don’t mean to intrude,
Sister.”

“It’s all right. All are welcome, dear.” She peers sagely into your eyes, placing her
hands on your shoulders. “May the Lord bless you and keep you safe. Be careful
around here.”

A dull roaring rose behind her, fluttering her habit. She leaned back and shook her
head sadly.

“You want to hear some irony? I became a nun because I figured that way I’d never
feel what it was like to burn.”

The picture wall behind her exploded into a vortex of orange and gold flames
whirling with leaves which flamed out of existence screaming.

The nun turned—her habit blazed a column of fire to the ceiling. “I’m coming!” she
called, and ran directly into the flames to save as many of her students as she could,
merging with the inferno.

Three plain angels slammed the doors to the school hallway—

!!!kerblam!!!

—hard enough to rumble the entire church and hurl every picture from the walls
down to the tile floor in a thunderous crash of sparkling glass and wood.

A nice Easter Egg giving Sister Marcia a bit of a heroic send-off (I like how this sequence shifts from present tense to past to indicate when we’re engaging with her apparition, and when we’re witnessing the past).

Also, that last bit seems to suggest that the three amigas escaped but trapped everyone else, Sister Marcia included, behind the fire doors to save their own skins? Dark.

A detail’s changed in the present, too:

Shattered glass and broken pieces of picture frames cover the floor of the narthex
around the edges near the walls.