Start of a transcript of

Cragne Manor
An Anchorhead tribute by various authors
Release 10 / Serial number 181208 / Inform 7 build 6M62 (I6/v6.33 lib 6/12N) 
Identification number: //1A586AF4-661C-4879-ADFF-7DDE35836AF1//
Interpreter version 1.3.5 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126
Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson
Cragne Suite version 2 by Ryan Veeder (including Basic Screen Effects and Modified Exit by Emily Short, as well as modifications by Andrew Plotkin of Epistemology and Conversation Framework by Eric Eve)

Plus modified versions of:
Optimized Epistemology by Andrew Plotkin
Conversation Framework by Eric Eve

>* ok, let's look for a likely lock
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x iron
Which do you mean, the hefty, rust-streaked iron key or the cast iron spire?

>hefty
A hefty iron key, its wards streaked with rust.

>* a chunky boi, as the youth say
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I'm guessing church
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x schedule
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination. Well okay then.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
Aqua Line -- River Walk
Orange Line -- Constabulary Road
Green Line -- The Woods
Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant
Purple Line -- Cragne Manor


>se

Cragne Family Plot (Mark Britton)
A cramped and neglected place on unwholesome yellow soil. Over the years the gravestones have shifted like teeth in an overcrowded mouth, collapsing one atop the other. Crabgrass pokes up limply between them, urine-yellow and parched-looking. The earth mounds up around the shabby crypt, as if it's sunk over the years into the Vermont topsoil. You wonder who would want to be buried here--and who would willingly consign their ancestors to this brutal place. Perhaps that's why it's been so neglected. 

Four squat columbariums stand north, east, south, and west of here. A winding and uncertain path leads southwest. By stepping over collapsed gravestones and bleached obelisks you can go northwest. Carefully. You could also enter the crypt from here, if you were able to open it.

Three graves nearby draw your eye. One headstone teeters drunkenly, half overrun by lichen. One headstone has collapsed entirely. An adjacent plot stands open, overlooked by a blank headstone. The grave within is flooded almost to the top with bubbling rainwater.

>sw

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>wait for gold line
You lean against the manor, hold out your pass, and wait for the gold line. Within moments, a noncorporeal trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you find yourself transported to

Church Exterior (Andy Holloway)
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.

>unlock door
What do you want to unlock the church doors with?

>iron
Which do you mean, the hefty, rust-streaked iron key or the cast iron spire?

>key
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

>* so much for that guess!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>* train station?  Seems unlikely
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>n

Milkweed (Caleb Wilson)
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)

>n

Exterior of Train Station (Emily Short with additions from Graham Nelson)
To the north is the monumental windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.

>n

Train Station Lobby (Shin)
The surroundings are as dim and dingy as ever. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. You are unsure what you should do.

>unlock green with iron key
That doesn't seem to be something you can unlock.

>x green
A large bronze key that you fished out of the fountain's drain.

>x door
Which do you mean, the restroom door or the green door?

>green
The green door appears to be the entrance to the station office. You try the handle and discover that it is locked.

>unlock green door with iron key
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

>* two down
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* shack seems plausible?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>s

Exterior of Train Station (Emily Short with additions from Graham Nelson)
To the north is the gigantic windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.

>s
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

Milkweed (Caleb Wilson)
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)

>s

Church Exterior (Andy Holloway)
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.

>
I beg your pardon?

>s
You can't go that way.

>ne

The Churchyard (David Jose)
A neglected and long forgotten cemetery stretches out below you, surrounded by a rusted wrought iron fence. Lopsided gravemarkers, slowly succumbing to the elements, topple downhill like a congregation bent low in prayer. At the very center of the graveyard, set into a low valley, a squat, stone mausoleum crouches menacingly.

To the southwest a dilapidated, stave church rises up obscenely against the night sky.

A dark pine forest crowds against the wrought iron fence to the northeast. You might be able to forge a path between its trees.

>ne

The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

For a moment, the wind dies down. Leaves on the ground come to rest.

>se

Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
A clearing, outside a wooden shack. A clockwork doll sits here, utterly incongruous at the edge of the woods.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.

>unlock shack with iron key
(the Shack Door with the hefty, rust-streaked iron key)
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

>* nope!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form the engine of a train. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>* hatch?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>se

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>s

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>se

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins. 

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.

>n

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>unlock hatch with iron key
At first you have some doubts, but with some coaxing, but the key (more or less) fits into the indentation in the hatch.

You give the key a good solid twist to the left, but it squeals to a stop after a quarter-turn, jammed in place.

>* er, some progress!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>turn key
Which do you mean, the keypad, the hefty, rust-streaked iron key, the bronze key green from age, the key from an urn, the thin steel key, the brass winding key or the aluminum key?

>
I beg your pardon?

>turn hefty
Nothing obvious happens.

>push it
You twist and pull with all your might: The key remains unfortunately jammed in place, but you do manage to pry the hatch itself open in the process, exposing the darkness below. 
>* aha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

>d
The hatch leads to a narrow flight of metal steps. As you twist past the door it swings shut behind you.

You descend the steps until suddenly, there are none, and also no floor. You throw out your arms to catch yourself, but there is nothing to hold. Worse, everything you are carrying slips from your grasp and goes flying, including your waterproof flashlight, which rolls across the hard stone floor and goes dark. Your fall lasts barely a moment however, ending with a painful twist of your ankle in chillingly cold water.

Darkness
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.

>* argh, not my flashlight!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>*  and my anniversary watch!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* I actually had a lot of stuff I was pretty attached to
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Darkness
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.

"You really shouldn't have come here..." You're pretty sure you aren't just hearing voices and that it came from the darkness ahead, but since you can't see anything, who knows. You can also hear what sounds like the scrabble of many small legs.

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

>* this doesn't seem great
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* go into the light?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a pile of rags.

>* huh, were we supposed to come down the funnel?  This would be below the town square I think
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* with the weird Navajo-language wheel
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
You emerge from the tunnel and step onto a filthy rug.  Instantly, your foot gives way as the rug slides with it.  There's an unsettling rattle.  You turn to find a headless, ocher horror lurching directly at you!  You throw your hands up to protect yourself, but it's too late.

It crashes into you, both of you tumble to the floor, and then -- nothing.  You open your eyes.  It's a mannequin, wearing a gold jacket.  Jesus Christ.  OK, getting your bearings now:

A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

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

>* let's try to finish mapping
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u
Although you have to skip a couple of steps, they bear your weight.  Huh.  It's possible that your architectural engineering intuition is not that well-honed.

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
You emerge into a tiny windowless office. 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. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks with a note resting on top of it. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>* ....I'm not sure we're getting to the manor this time out
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>n
(first opening the door)
It seems to be locked.

>* jeez.  OK, let's back 
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin (on which is a gold jacket) and a filthy rug here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a pile of rags.

>i
You are carrying:
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>* we can't even check for coffee!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x ladder
A rickety metal ladder is leading down the funnel, ending on the ground right at the vertical wall to the northwest. The rungs don't look very stable, but you've made it down here without any problems and could probably climb back up without any as well.

>* well we didn't come down here first
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x funnel
You can't see any such thing.

>x rungs
A rickety metal ladder is leading down the funnel, ending on the ground right at the vertical wall to the northwest. The rungs don't look very stable, but you've made it down here without any problems and could probably climb back up without any as well.

All of a sudden the pile of rags moves! It's not rags, it's a human being! When your heartbeat kicks back in you realize it's a man, probably a hobo, who had curled up for sleep in the corner and moved during sleep. Whew, that was quite a jumpscare. Hopefully this man isn't dangerous. Or infectious.

>* I'm sure he's friendly
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x ground
The ground seems to be made up of dirt treaded down. Or maybe it's just a layer of dirt on rock. An any case it's solid, and dirty.

>search ground
You find nothing of interest.

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

>x tunnel
The tunnel leads southeast into saturnine darkness. It seems unwise to go there without a reliable lightsource. And without your husband. Which reminds you why you are here - to find him. Hopefully he's far away from this gloomy place.

>x bricks
Old, reddish-brown bricks form the walls and ceiling of the tunnel leading southeast. They are crumbling at the corners, and the mortar between them has dropped off here and there. The tunnel must be old, much older than the electric wire leading along its angular point, and even that looks antique. It is unclear which purpose the tunnel had when it was built. Maybe smuggling.

>se

Darkness
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.

>take all
There are none at all available!

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>* smuggling tunnels?  I guess there is a river here, but what would be the production side?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x wire
You can't see any such thing.

>x electric
You can't see any such thing.

>x electric wire
You can't see any such thing.

>* aww, thought we might be able to fix the light that way
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x hobo
This place is dry and sheltered from the wind, so a hobo has chosen it as his sleeping place. From what you can see the man is old and in poor health. Badly mending... wounds cover the few spots of skin you can see, his face is red and turgid, and his greasy grey hair is scraggy and hasn't been cut in ages.

The poor man wears an outsized coat of brownish-greyish colour against the cold. Brown corduroys and aged black leather shoes without laces complete his outfit. He has curled himself up against the southwestern corner and is sound asleep. There appears to be something clenched tightly in his right hand.

>* his face is turgid???
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* sounds bad
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coat
The hobo is wearing an outsized coat of brownish-greyish colour, made from some coarse and thick material that hopefully protects him from the cold.

>x something
You can't see any such thing.

>x hand
The hands of the hobo show marks of a life full of deprivation: Deep wrinkles, dirt and scurfy old wounds. His right hand forms a fist, as if he was holding something in it.

>wake hobo
You hesitantly tug on the hobo's coat once, but to no avail. Violence is not your thing. Now how could you get this guy to wake up?

>g
You hesitantly tug on the hobo's coat once, but to no avail. Violence is not your thing. Now how could you get this guy to wake up?

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

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

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

>open fist
The man emits a sharp bark and clutches the thing in his hand even tighter. Apparently brute force won't work here.

>i
You are carrying:
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>give coveralls to hobo
(first taking Ed's coveralls off)
The hobo doesn't seem interested.

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

>shout
What do you want to shout hello to?

>noho
You can't see any such thing.

>* stop thinking about North Hollywood, nitocris
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>shout at hobo
(to the hobo)
Apart from a twitch of his left eye there is no reaction. The hobo is sound asleep.

>* jeez he sleeps like the dead
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* like we're an undead horror and we're quicker to get up and at them
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls

>wear coveralls
You put on the greasy foodstained coveralls that you stripped off a frozen corpse you found floating in a space bathroom. You nasty, girl. I'm not saying I don't like it, but you nasty.

>* cold water would do it
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* good smells?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

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

>attack hobo
You hesitantly tug on the hobo's coat once, but to no avail. Violence is not your thing. Now how could you get this guy to wake up?

>take coat
That would be theft, and really evil.

>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

From further down the tunnel you hear the sound of a drop of water splashing into a puddle of... water.

>listen
Eerie silence. Luckily. Any noise might scare you to death here.

>x water
You can't see any such thing.

>se

Darkness
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.

>take water
You scoop up a handful of the cold, slimy water and raise it to your lips. 

 "STOP!" 

 You're generally not one for following the advice of strange voices, but you decide it has the right of this case.

"You really shouldn't have come here..." You're pretty sure you aren't just hearing voices and that it came from the darkness ahead, but since you can't see anything, who knows. You can also hear what sounds like the scrabble of many small legs.

>undo
Darkness
[Previous turn undone.]

>* was that because I tried to get the water?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>z
Time passes.

"You really shouldn't have come here..." You're pretty sure you aren't just hearing voices and that it came from the darkness ahead, but since you can't see anything, who knows. You can also hear what sounds like the scrabble of many small legs.

>take water
You scoop up a handful of the cold, slimy water and raise it to your lips. 

 "STOP!" 

 You're generally not one for following the advice of strange voices, but you decide it has the right of this case.

"Far be it for me to complain... so nice to have visitors..." Something is definitely coming closer. Most of it seems to be coming from in front of you off to the left.

>i
You are carrying:
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

"You aren't trying to leave us, are you? You've only just arrived!" The skittering sounds are all around you now, though much of it seems to be above your head. You feel something drop onto your shoulder and almost immediately it starts to burn.

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

For a moment you think you see something moving in the shadows, but it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you.

>* not great!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x shadows
You can't see any such thing.

>se

Darkness
You can't see a damn thing now. You have the impression of light off to the northwest.

>z
Time passes.

"You really shouldn't have come here..." You're pretty sure you aren't just hearing voices and that it came from the darkness ahead, but since you can't see anything, who knows. You can also hear what sounds like the scrabble of many small legs.

>z
Time passes.

"Far be it for me to complain... so nice to have visitors..." Something is definitely coming closer. Most of it seems to be coming from in front of you off to the left.

>z
Time passes.

"You aren't trying to leave us, are you? You've only just arrived!" The skittering sounds are all around you now, though much of it seems to be above your head. You feel something drop onto your shoulder and almost immediately it starts to burn.

>z
Time passes.

More specks drop onto you, crawling through your hair, down your face and along your arms. Pain blossoms wherever they land, causing you to cry out and shake yourself, desperate to be rid of them. The voice is silent now accept for a dry, self satisfied chuckle.

>d
You stumble blindly in that direction until you hit a hard surface.

Blinded by sheer panic, you start running. It doesn't take long before you come crashing into a wall and fall thrashing to the ground. More of the many-legged creatures fall onto your chest and neck and begin to feed. Unable to rise, you are quickly (though certainly not painlessly) devoured by the swarm. Once your corpse is desiccated and picked clean by the ravenous horde, they depart in search of fresher, tastier meat.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)?
> take back
Your fatal mistake wasn't that long ago! Try UNDO instead.

Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)?
> undo
Darkness
[Previous turn undone.]

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>* OK we should be able to recover, then
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* we never commented on Grueslayer, but kinda appropriate name for an underground, dark area
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* no games listed on IFDB, even CM itself, so must be listed under their real name?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* IFDB profile just has a best games ever list, with one entry (it's Zork I, aptly enough)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* Let's depart from our usual practice and check some of the other locations -- maybe they're more connected than usual?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin (on which is a gold jacket) and a filthy rug here.

>* Ah, Sean Shore! He wrote the lovely Hunger Daemon, a funny Cthulhu parody with a lot of Twin Cities and Judaism flavor
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x lamp
This thing has been here for a good fifty years, you'd wager.  Normally, a dim, golden glow makes everything and everyone look better.  This is not one of those glows.

The wall-mounted sodium lamp is currently switched on.

>take lamp
Honey, you can somehow carry dozens of things around here, but you can't carry that.

>* even if I'm really motivated?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>turn off lamp
It's not obvious how to do that.  And more light, jaundiced though it may be, is probably better than less.

>break lamp
Violence isn't the answer to this one.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin (on which is a gold jacket) and a filthy rug here.

>* well, it's switched on so it must be switchable off...
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>listen
The buzzing of the lamp is the sound of a single bee.  Owing to the closeness of the walls, it seems to come from everywhere.

>* nice writing
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x stiars
You can't see any such thing.

>oops stairs
They look terrible, but I guess they're pretty solid.  A tip of the cap to the original contractor.

>x opening
The egress downward to the tunnel.

>x rug
It was a bright tartan pattern, but it is now mostly encrusted with a foul black ichor.

>take it
If you insist.  Taken.

>i
You are carrying:
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>open it
It isn't something you can open.

>wear it
You can't wear that!

>taste it
You taste nothing unexpected.

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

>push it
Nothing obvious happens.

>x mannequin
It's a single-piece female model with articulated joints.  It's missing its head; someone has raggedly hacked it away, leaving a rather sharp edge.  There's a single red eye painted on its torso.  It's wearing a gold jacket.

>x eye
A heavy-lidded malevolent eye stares back at you from the mannequin's torso.  Even though it's just paint, the pupil seems to exert a psychic tug from which you struggle to free yourself.  A hollow, faraway voice calls to you for blood.  Blood!  You find yourself not wanting to disappoint it.

>touch eye
You feel a subtle and unsettling electric current.

A heavy-lidded malevolent eye stares back at you from the mannequin's torso.  Even though it's just paint, the pupil seems to exert a psychic tug from which you struggle to free yourself.  A hollow, faraway voice calls to you for blood.  Blood!  You find yourself not wanting to disappoint it.

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

>x edge
A wickedly sharp piece of plastic juts from the mannequin's exposed neck.  You gingerly run your finger across it and almost cut yourself.  If you pushed any harder, you would surely do so.  Part of you wants to.

>touch it
You gingerly run your finger across the sharp edge and almost cut yourself.  If you pushed any harder, you would surely do so.  Part of you wants to.

>g
You gingerly run your finger across the sharp edge and almost cut yourself.  If you pushed any harder, you would surely do so.  Part of you wants to.

>push it
The thrill of death washes over you as you run your finger along the sharp edge of the mannequin's neck and apply some pressure.  Blood flows from your tiny wound, dripping onto the mannequin's stump, trickling down to the blazing eye.  The eye closes with a look of satisfaction.  When it opens, it is replaced by an oozing, bloody socket, throbbing with eldritch power.

>* Yay?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x socket
It's a pulsing, oozing orifice with three small holes.

>x holes
It's a pulsing, oozing orifice with three small holes.

>touch holes
You worry that you might electrocute yourself.  Or worse.

>touch it
You worry that you might electrocute yourself.  Or worse.

>touch mannequin
You feel nothing unexpected.

>x eyes
You can't see any such thing.

>x eye
You can't see any such thing.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin (on which is a gold jacket) here.

>x jacket
A patch on the left breast reads "Century 21 Real Estate."  There's dried blood all around the collar.

>take it
Taken.

>x collar
A patch on the left breast reads "Century 21 Real Estate."  There's dried blood all around the collar.

>wear it
It's probably a crime in Vermont to impersonate a real estate agent, and the jacket is soaked in the blood of the innocent, but what the hell.  You slip it on.

>* nah, that should be OK, as long as we don't call ourselves a Realtor(TM)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I'm serious
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* also this was worn by a real estate agent, none of them are innocent
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x patch
It's from a national real estate chain.

>take it
That seems to be a part of the gold jacket.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin here.

>x clothes
You poke at the clothes with your foot.  They're a mix of women's and men's, old and young.  Many are torn, some are bloodstained, others are fouled with something black and viscous.

>search clothes
You can't quite steel yourself to do anything more than prod them from a safe distance.

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

>push clothes
You can't quite steel yourself to do anything more than prod them from a safe distance.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin here.

>x vcr
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger.  It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape.  A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push.  With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched off.

>turn on tv
You press the power button a couple of times, and nothing happens.  The power cord is unplugged.

>plug tv into mannequin
You plug the power cord into the mannequin's bloody socket.  It swallows the entire plug, leaving only the cord emerging from the dummy's abdomen and snaking toward the TV.  The mannequin's hands and feet twitch with unholy excitement.

>* as one does
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>turn on t
You can't see any such thing.

>turn on tv
You turn the Panasonic on.  A plain blue screen is displayed.

>push play
There's no tape in the VCR.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a mannequin here.

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

>* oh wait there's a stack
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x stack
There's about a half-dozen tapes, some of them in slipcases, some not, most with peeling labels, none of them fully rewound, and all with the write-protect tabs broken off.  They are numbered from 8 to 13.  You can refer to them as TAPE 8, TAPE 9, and so forth.

All of the slipcases have the same logo: a stylized tentacle creature in a copper-colored hexagon. Must be some weird local brand you've never heard of.

>* write-protect labels!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x 8
They're all basically the same, except for the numbers on them.  You notice that they are all EP tapes, meaning that in theory they could each be up to six hours long.  Which in turn means you have a lot of potential viewing ahead of you unless you're looking for something specific.

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

>take tapy 8
You can't see any such thing.

>take tape 8
Taken.

>put 8 in vcr
The tape plays.  The footage is grainy and and shaky; it looks to have been transferred to VHS from another medium, perhaps Super-8.  There's a single figure, speaking in front of a blackened altar, somewhere underground.  Candles only partly illuminate him, but the face, the voice -- you know them.  Could it be Peter's great uncle Josephus Cragne?  He chants ecstatically in a mixture of English and something completely unrecognizable, filled with glottal stops and ululations.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1503.

>* another Cragne!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x vcr
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger.  It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape.  A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push.  With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched on.

>ff to 1998
You fast-forward until the counter reads 1998.

The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2048.

>* counter moves quick
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>ff to 2100
You fast-forward until the counter reads 2100.

The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2150.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2200.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2250.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2300.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2350.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2400.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2450.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 2500.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2550.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2600.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2650.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2700.

>rewind to 0
You can't see any such thing.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 1338.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 1388.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1438.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1488.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1538.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1588.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 1638.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 1688.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1738.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1788.

>take 8
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>put 9 in vcr
(first taking tape 9)
The tape plays.  On the screen, a mass of wild-eyed cultists are gathered on a beach.  They dance and chant in a blasphemous, throbbing din.  The camera retreats, revealing a cluster of terrified people chained to a huge stone block.  It dawns upon you that you are now standing amidst their clothing.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1838.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1888.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1938.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1988.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2038.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2088.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2138.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2188.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter rolls back from 0000 and now reads 9815.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 9865.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 9915.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 9965.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0015.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0065.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0115.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0165.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0215.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0265.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0315.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0365.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0415.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0465.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0515.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0565.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0615.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0665.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0715.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0765.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0815.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0865.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0915.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 0965.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1015.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1065.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1115.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1165.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1215.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1265.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1315.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1365.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1415.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1465.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1515.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1565.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1615.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1665.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1715.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1765.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1815.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1865.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1915.

>
I beg your pardon?

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 1965.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2015.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2065.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2115.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a moment, but can't bear to continue, fearful of what you're about to see.

The counter now reads 2165.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>put 8 in vcr
There's already a tape in there.

>take 9
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>* I mean this is taking hours, but we're stuck down here so what else is there to do?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>put 8 in vcr
(first taking tape 8)
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2246.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 1746.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1796.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 1846.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 1896.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1946.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1996.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2046.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2096.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2146.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 2196.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2246.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2296.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2346.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2396.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2446.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 2496.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2546.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2596.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2646.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2696.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2746.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2796.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2846.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2896.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 2946.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2996.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 3046.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 3096.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 3146.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 3196.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 3246.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 3296.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 3346.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 3396.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 3446.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 3496.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 3546.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 3596.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 3646.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 3696.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 3746.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 3796.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 3846.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 3896.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 3946.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 3996.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 4046.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 4096.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>take 8
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>put 10 in vcr
(first taking tape 10)
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4177.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 3684.

>push play
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3734.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3784.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3834.

>x image
You can't see any such thing.

>cross eyes like for those magic eye things
You can't see any such thing.

>play
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3884.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3934.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 3984.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4034.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4084.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4134.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4184.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4234.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4284.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4334.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4384.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4434.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4484.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4534.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4584.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4634.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4684.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4734.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4784.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4834.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4884.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4934.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 4984.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5034.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5084.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5134.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5184.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5234.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5284.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5334.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5384.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5434.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5484.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5534.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5584.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5634.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5684.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5734.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5784.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5834.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5884.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5934.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 5984.

>g
The tape plays.  It seems to be damaged.  You can hear the occasional shriek or low moan, but the picture alternates between snow and a scrambled image that you can't make out.

The counter now reads 6034.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>push eject
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>put 11 in vcr
(first taking tape 11)
The tape plays.  The screen is black.  Nothing seems to be happening, but then you hear the hiss and crackle of static.  The audio on this tape seems to have been transferred from something very old, perhaps a wax cylinder.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6115.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 6043.

>* A native american language you say!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* could help us with the town square puzzle
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>push play
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6093.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6143.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6193.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6243.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6293.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6343.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6393.

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

>listen
The buzzing of the lamp is the sound of a single bee.  Owing to the closeness of the walls, it seems to come from everywhere.

>x runes
They are in an unrecognizable, alien language.  Their movements on the screen are hypnotic.

>* can we like take notes?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>push play
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6443.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6493.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6543.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6593.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6643.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6693.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6743.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6793.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6843.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6893.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6943.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 6993.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7043.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7093.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7143.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7193.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7243.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7293.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7343.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7393.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7443.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7493.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7543.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7593.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7643.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7693.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7743.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7793.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7843.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7893.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7943.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 7993.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8043.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8093.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8143.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8193.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8243.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8293.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8343.

>g
The tape plays.  The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes.  A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 8393.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>take tape
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>i
You are carrying:
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>push 12 in vcr
You can't use multiple objects with that verb.

>put 12 in vcr
(first taking tape 12)
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8474.

>push rewind
As you reach for the rewind button, your eye is briefly drawn to the reset pin on the counter.  You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 7397.

>push play
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 7447.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 7497.

>* checks out
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>play
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 7547.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 7597.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 7647.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 7697.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 7747.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 7797.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 7847.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 7897.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 7947.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 7997.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8047.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8097.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 8147.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8197.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 8247.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8297.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8347.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 8397.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 8447.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 8497.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 8547.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8597.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8647.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8697.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 8747.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8797.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 8847.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8897.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 8947.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 8997.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 9047.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 9097.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 9147.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 9197.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 9247.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 9297.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 9347.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 9397.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 9447.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 9497.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 9547.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  Some high school students have apparently eaten a live piglet, to the girl's consternation.

The counter now reads 9597.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  A bat-faced guy with fruit-punch mouth pushes up against an invisible barrier.

The counter now reads 9647.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  The girl and her friends seem to be running around a funeral home.

The counter now reads 9697.

>g
The tape plays.  Someone has recorded several episodes of a show about a blond girl fighting vampires.  She seems to be hacking at a giant praying mantis.

The counter now reads 9747.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>take 12
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>put 13 in vcr
(first taking tape 13)
The tape plays.  This footage seems to be recent.  Wait, more than recent.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 9828.

>push rewind
As you reach for the rewind button, your eye is briefly drawn to the reset pin on the counter.  You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 9410.

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

>x pin
It's got a four-digit display and a little pin that you can push to reset it.  It currently reads 9410.

>push pin
You push the pin, and the counter resets to 0000.

>rewind
It's already fully rewound.

>* oh, I get it
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I presume there's some index number I'll need to search for
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>push plag
You can't see any such thing.

>push play
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0050.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0100.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0150.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0200.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0250.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0300.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0350.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0400.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0450.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0500.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0550.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0600.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0650.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0700.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0750.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0800.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0850.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0900.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 0950.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1000.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1050.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1100.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1150.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1200.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1250.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1300.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1350.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1400.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1450.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1500.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1550.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1600.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1650.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1700.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1750.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1800.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1850.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1900.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 1950.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2000.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2050.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2100.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2150.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2200.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2250.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2300.

>g
The tape plays.  A middle-aged man appears on the screen, with a wall calendar behind him that reads August 2018.  He says, "This room is of course a tip of the cap to the Church Cellar in Anchorhead, which was my favorite piece of interactive fiction long before this project was announced.  Many thanks to Jenni and Ryan for conceiving and organizing this madness; to Mike Gentry for giving us an excuse to come together; and to Austin Auclair, Roberto Colnaghi, Chris Conley, Chandler Groover, Llew Mason, Carl Muckenhoupt, Greta Shore, and Petter Sjölund for testing."

The counter now reads 2350.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>* OK we need something more targeted
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take tape
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see tape 8 and a mannequin here.

>x cothes
You can't see any such thing.

>x clothes
You poke at the clothes with your foot.  They're a mix of women's and men's, old and young.  Many are torn, some are bloodstained, others are fouled with something black and viscous.

>smell them
You can't quite steel yourself to do anything more than prod them from a safe distance.

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

>* Feels like we need more info
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see tape 8 and a mannequin here.

>x tape 8
They're all basically the same, except for the numbers on them.  You notice that they are all EP tapes, meaning that in theory they could each be up to six hours long.  Which in turn means you have a lot of potential viewing ahead of you unless you're looking for something specific.

>take it
Taken.

>i
You are carrying:
  tape 8
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>take all
discarded clothes: You can't quite steel yourself to do anything more than prod them from a safe distance.
tape 13: The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.
tape 12: The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.
tape 11: The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.
tape 10: The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.
tape 9: The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.
power cord: You pick up the end of the power cord.

>x cord
It's a standard US power cord with three-prong plug.  It's plugged into the bloody socket on the mannequin.

>x vcr
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger.  It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape.  A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push.  With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched on.

>d
You let go of the power cord and descend.

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>* probably shouldn't be able to grab the end when it's already plugged in
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>put 8 in vcr
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>rewind
You rewind the tape all the way.  The counter now reads 0000.

>push play
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 0050.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 0100.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 0150.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 0200.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 0250.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 0300.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 0350.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 0400.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 0450.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 0500.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 0550.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 0600.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 0650.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 0700.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 0750.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 0800.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 0850.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 0900.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 0950.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 1000.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 1050.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1100.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1150.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1200.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 1250.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 1300.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1350.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 1400.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 1450.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1500.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1550.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 1600.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 1650.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1700.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 1750.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 1800.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 1850.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 1900.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 1950.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues.  The figure's elbows seem to bend the wrong way as he gestures frantically.

The counter now reads 2000.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2050.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, building to a crescendo.  Then one word -- a name -- emerges from the din with an unexpected and nauseating clarity:  Vaadignephod.

The counter now reads 2100.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2150.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, but it is suddenly interrupted; someone has taped something over this segment.  It's a performance of I'm My Own Grandpa by Willie Nelson.

The counter now reads 2200.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as a shadow, matching nothing in the video's foreground, emerges from behind the chanting Josephus, if in fact that is who it is.  The shadow dissipates moments later.

The counter now reads 2250.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the chanting continues, until you can take no more.

The counter now reads 2300.

>g
The tape plays.  You watch for a few minutes as the figure intones: "Uln vulgtlagln ee uh'e vulgtm hlirgh naya uaaahor hrii, kn'a athg wgah'n nnnlw'nafh shuggagl nar'luh r'luh tharanak nw zhro".

The counter now reads 2350.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>g
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again.  You've reached the end of the tape.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks with a note resting on top of it. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>* Not doing great!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Not picking up anything on Llew
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x walls
The grim white walls seem unbearably close. Cracked red bricks and crumbling mortar peek through layers of white paint peeling with age.

>x ceiling
It's a barrel-vaulted ceiling built of the same bricks that line the walls. It's construction somehow amplifies your sense of being cramped and confined.

>x door
It's a perfectly ordinary wooden door. You try the handle, but it appears to be locked.

>x note
(first taking the short note)
Peter,

I was very glad to hear of your impending arrival. Your family line has been separated from Cragne Manor for far too long. Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted to give you something as a "homecoming" present. Truth be told, I'm really just returning your property. The object you'll find inside was something your father gave to me many years ago. He said that it had originally belonged to your great uncle Luther. He never explained why he wanted me to have it, and seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that the object's purpose or function was a conundrum that I couldn't solve. Following his death, I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that I ended up simply using it as a rather elaborate paperweight. Maybe you'll have better luck figuring it out. Lord knows, it's not like the extended Cragne family hasn't dealt with its share of mysteries.

Yours truly, Daniel Baker.

>* another uncle!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* plz don't be the Lament Configuration thx
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take note
You already have that.

>x stack
You idly rifle through some of the papers, but nothing looks very interesting. As you push paper around, you hear something fall off the desk and hit the floor with a metallic clink. Looking down, you see a large brass key.

>x brass
A large and important-looking brass key. Someone wrote a two digit number on the bow. It's mostly worn off, but the first digit looks like a 3.

>* nice!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take it
Taken.

>unlock door with brass
You try in vain to fit the key in the lock. No luck. Apparently this key unlocks a different door.

>* of course
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* there was a 31 label at the house, of course
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* We never checked whether it was locked
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>x papers
You idly rifle through some of the papers, but nothing looks very interesting.

>x desk
Calling it oversize would be an understatement. It's probably eight feet long and looks like it's made of solid oak. Stacks of paperwork are scattered haphazardly all over it. Someone was clearly in desperate need of a filing system. A package in brown wrapping paper is nestled amongst the stacks. 

>open desk
There's nothing to open. It has no drawers.

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

>x package
The package is about as big as your hand and has been neatly wrapped in plain brown paper.

>open it
(first taking the brown wrapped package)
You carefully unwrap the packaging and discover an ornate metallic box.

>x box
The palm-sized box seems to be carved out of a dull gray metal. A clear seam around the top of the box suggests that it should be able to be opened. The lid is adorned with elaborate painted panels. On one side you see a large flat button and five smaller engraved buttons. 

>x flat
The flat button is larger than its cousins and is bereft of markings.

>push it
Some mechanism within the box whirs, sounds like it gets stuck, and then clicks loudly.

>open it
It isn't something you can open.

>open box
It seems to be locked despite having no keyhole.

>x ld
You can't see any such thing.

>x ld
You can't see any such thing.

>x lid
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x bird
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x camel
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x toad
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x snake
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x engraved
The small buttons are each engraved with a different symbol - a circle, a vertical line, a V-shape, a Y-shape, and an X-shape.

>* are these like numbers?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>push circle
The button clicks.

>g
The button clicks.

>g
The button clicks.

>g
The button clicks.

>g
The button clicks.

>g
The button clicks.

>* No sign that we've hit four in a row
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* seems like legs might be the indicator (bird = 2, camel = 4, toad = 3, snake = 0)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* then circle = 0, vertical = 1, Y = 3, X = 4
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* so V = 2 by induction -- I guess it's about ends, not points
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>push v.  push x.  push y.  push circle
The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

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

>push v.  push x.  push y.  push circle
The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

>x box
The palm-sized box seems to be carved out of a dull gray metal. A clear seam around the top of the box suggests that it should be able to be opened. The lid is adorned with elaborate painted panels. On one side you see a large flat button and five smaller engraved buttons. 

>x engraved
The small buttons are each engraved with a different symbol - a circle, a vertical line, a V-shape, a Y-shape, and an X-shape.

>* oh wait, the flat one
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>push flat
Some mechanism within the box whirs, sounds like it gets stuck, and then clicks loudly.

>push v.  push x.  push y.  push circle
The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

The button clicks.

>push flat
Some mechanism within the box whirs, and then produces a satisfying click. You feel the lid catch release.

>* there we are
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* please be a key and/or light source
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x box
The palm-sized box seems to be carved out of a dull gray metal. A clear seam around the top of the box suggests that it should be able to be opened. The lid is adorned with elaborate painted panels. On one side you see a large flat button and five smaller engraved buttons. 

>open box
You open the box, revealing a tiny leather book. To your horror, dozens of inch-long insects crawl out from under the book, scurry up the inside edge of the box, and then begin climbing onto your hand. In a blind panic you shake them off wildly, and the box falls to the floor with a loud thud. Your breathing slows when you realize that they were just harmless silverfish.

>* oh no big deal
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take box
Taken.

>i
You are carrying:
  an ornate metallic box (open)
    a tiny leather journal
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>x journal
(first taking the tiny leather journal)
It's a tiny leather book. It's plain except for an unusual and quite striking design that has been embossed on the cover. Although discolored by age, the initial pages are quite legible. Unfortunately, many of the later pages have suffered heavily due to the silverfish and are covered with a patchwork of irregular, notched holes - only fragments of the once clear handwriting remain.

>x holes
The silverfish have damaged the book severely. Only the earliest pages are untouched.

>x design
The outline of an animal has been embossed on the cover. If you'd seen this a month ago you'd have only been able to identify it as some sort of bear-like mammal with a long bushy tail. However, your recent trip to the zoo apparently had some educational value. The animal depicted on the cover is clearly a wolverine.

>* handy to know!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* not from the library
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>read book
Journal of Luther Cragne

(You can repeat this command to read each journal entry)

>g
September 8th, 1932.
Returned from Czechoslovakia this evening. I can barely contain my excitement! I managed to obtain an artifact that we of the Variegated Court have long sought. The foolish Cikáni that I purchased it from for only a few koruna had no idea what it was.

>g
September 12th, 1932.
Spent the past few days absorbed in Mathers' The Book of Abramelin. The key is the harvest moon, and I am in luck that I do not have to wait an entire year. My almanac shows that the next harvest moon occurs in only two days. I must prepare.

>g
September 15th, 1932.
I am confused and frustrated. Beneath the pale orange light of last night's moon, I followed the instructions from the Abramelin text precisely, but after completing the evocation I experienced nothing.

>g
September 16th, 1932.
Continuing my research. Looking for a secondary translation as Mathers' is widely known to contain many errors and omissions. My position as Niveous Alderman is at stake.

>* Niveous is "snowy"
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

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

>read journal
September 17th, 1932.
Didn't get a wink of sleep last night. The dogs started barking at a very early hour in the morning and simply would not stop.

>g
September 18th, 1932.
The dogs were at it again last night. I went outside to investigate but found nothing. I thought I saw something at the edge of the tree line, but it may have simply been my mind playing tricks upon me at that late hour.

>g
September 19th, 1932.
Another sleepless night. Dogs were terrified, alternating between fearful wimpering and barking into the silent darkness. I'm now convinced that something is visiting each night - something that I must have unwittingly awakened under that fateful full moon four nights ago.

>g
September 20th, 1932.
My hand still trembles as I write this entry, and I am not entirely sure that I am not overcome with some madness. Last night, after waking from a few hours of fitful sleep, I saw something inhuman at the window, pawing ineffectually at the glass. THEN IT SPOKE MY NAME.

>g
The remaining pages are too badly damaged.

(You turn back to the beginning)

>save
Ok.

>* Well that's one solved location I think
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>*  we still seem sorta stuck though
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>l
Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>n
(first opening the door)
It seems to be locked.

>break door
Violence isn't the answer to this one.

>* Would really like to know where we are!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>s
You can't go that way.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>n
You can't go that way.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>w
You can't go that way.

>nw
You can't go that way.

>ne
You can't go that way.

>e
You can't go that way.

>w
You can't go that way.

>sw
You can't go that way.

>se
You can't go that way.

>s
You can't go that way.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>nw
You can't go that way.

>ne
You can't go that way.

>e
You can't go that way.

>se
You can't go that way.

>s
You can't go that way.

>sw
You can't go that way.

>w
You can't go that way.

>* feels like we need more info on where to look in the tapes, which might help us get through the town square
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.

>i
You are carrying:
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.

>give rug to hobo
The hobo doesn't seem interested.

>put rug on hobo
Putting things on the hobo would achieve nothing.

For a moment you think you see something moving in the shadows, but it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you.

>* would keep him warm!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* and or filthy
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x rug
It was a bright tartan pattern, but it is now mostly encrusted with a foul black ichor.

>x ichor
It was a bright tartan pattern, but it is now mostly encrusted with a foul black ichor.

>smell it
You smell nothing unexpected.

>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

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

>x light
You can't see any such thing.

>x shadows
You can't see any such thing.

>x tunnel
The tunnel leads southeast into saturnine darkness. It seems unwise to go there without a reliable lightsource. And without your husband. Which reminds you why you are here - to find him. Hopefully he's far away from this gloomy place.

>x markins
You can't see any such thing.

>x markings
You can't see any such thing.

>x wall markings
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the wall.

>x wall
Crumbling, auburn bricks form the walls of this tunnel. Until about hip height they run vertically, then they form an arc above your head. The tunnel ends at a vertical wall to the northwest, from where a ramshackle metal ladder leads up a funnel and back to the surface. That vertical wall looks pretty solid, and newer than the old masonry forming the tunnel.

A small metal hatch is set into the vertical wall. About ten or twelve feet down the tunnel you spot a mysterious opening in the left wall, about the size of a duffelbag.

>* oh, that's new
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x hatch
A small metal hatch is set into the northwestern wall, about 15 by 10 inches large. The name of a power company is engraved into the heavily corroded surface in long outdated ATF Garamond letters: "Vermont United Gas and Electric Company." There is a hexagonal hole of about 6 or 7 milimeters diameter set into the middle of the right frame of the hatch - probably for an Allen key of matching size, functioning as a key to what's behind the hatch.

>* don't think we've found allen wrenches or hex wrenches anywhere
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x wall
Crumbling, auburn bricks form the walls of this tunnel. Until about hip height they run vertically, then they form an arc above your head. The tunnel ends at a vertical wall to the northwest, from where a ramshackle metal ladder leads up a funnel and back to the surface. That vertical wall looks pretty solid, and newer than the old masonry forming the tunnel.

A small metal hatch is set into the vertical wall. About ten or twelve feet down the tunnel you spot a mysterious opening in the left wall, about the size of a duffelbag.

>nw
You can't go that way.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>open hatch
Even when the hatch is unlocked, you will need the Allen key to open it, since there is no handle on the hatch.

>unlock hatch
What do you want to unlock the hatch with?

>brass
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

>x wall
Crumbling, auburn bricks form the walls of this tunnel. Until about hip height they run vertically, then they form an arc above your head. The tunnel ends at a vertical wall to the northwest, from where a ramshackle metal ladder leads up a funnel and back to the surface. That vertical wall looks pretty solid, and newer than the old masonry forming the tunnel.

A small metal hatch is set into the vertical wall. About ten or twelve feet down the tunnel you spot a mysterious opening in the left wall, about the size of a duffelbag.

>x hatch
A small metal hatch is set into the northwestern wall, about 15 by 10 inches large. The name of a power company is engraved into the heavily corroded surface in long outdated ATF Garamond letters: "Vermont United Gas and Electric Company." There is a hexagonal hole of about 6 or 7 milimeters diameter set into the middle of the right frame of the hatch - probably for an Allen key of matching size, functioning as a key to what's behind the hatch.

>x opening
There is a recess in the northeastern wall, a bit above ground level. You take a step closer and astoundedly notice it is some kind of altar, deliberately built into the wall. The recess has an extent of about 15 by 25 inches and is about 10 inches deep. The upper part is arched in symmetry with the tunnel, with seven slightly protruding bricks arranged in a semicircle rounding out the structure towards the front. The base of the altar features a candleholder with a circle of eight sockets. All sockets are empty. The rear wall is almost completely taken up by the picture of a girl.

In the altar is a metal flask.

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

>ne
You can't go that way.

>* oh okay had no idea this was here
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x altar
 Looks indeed like someone has built an altar here, in this godforsaken place. The recess has an extent of about 15 by 25 inches and is about 10 inches deep. The upper part is arched in symmetry with the tunnel, with seven slightly protruding bricks arranged in a semicircle rounding out the structure towards the front. The base of the altar features a candleholder with a circle of eight sockets. All sockets are empty. The rear wall is almost completely taken up by the picture of a girl.

In the altar is a metal flask.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?

>feel
What do you want to feel?

>air
You can't see any such thing.

>( oh that's good
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x flask
A hand-sized, silver-coloured metal flask without any ornaments. The cap is attached to the flask through a thin metal chain so it can't get lost.

>take it
Taken.

>open flask
You open the flask. It seems to have contained a very strong booze not too long ago, for it stinks beastly of alcohol. You see the hobo's nose twitch.

>* aha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x bricks
The rectangular recess is surmounted by some sort of semicircular ledge, formed by seven bricks that stick out a little from the wall. Probably the most ornate design one could fit such an altar with.

>push bricks
It is fixed in place.

>x ledge
The rectangular recess is surmounted by some sort of semicircular ledge, formed by seven bricks that stick out a little from the wall. Probably the most ornate design one could fit such an altar with.

>put flask on ledge
Putting things on the ledge would achieve nothing.

>stand on ledge
That's not something you can stand on.

>* OK, is that the altar
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x candleholder
In the middle of the altar-like recess is a candle holder with eight sockets in the shape of a circle. The sockets are small, like thimbles, and probably made from brazen, or bronze. All sockets are empty.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.

>x girl
The photo has faded over the years so it's hard to make out details. Her dark hair and the simple blouse or dress she's wearing indicate the picture is very old - early 20th century or even older, you're not sure. She's wearing a lace collar held together by a brooch. Her hair style is weird from today's point of view - curly at the forehead, then short, flat and upswept at the back of the head. Her dark eyes are almond-shaped, and she has high cheekbones.

>* a photo
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take photo
That seems to be a part of the picture.

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.

>take picture
The picture is glued to the wall.

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

>x collar
A patch on the left breast reads "Century 21 Real Estate."  There's dried blood all around the collar.

>x brooch
You can't see any such thing.

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

>give flask to hobo
You hold the open flask in front of the hobo's face and wave it around a little. The smell seems to get through to him even during sleep - he makes a few nondescript grimaces, opens and closes his mouth and moans uncontrolledly, then suddenly opens his eyes and locates the bottle. He grabs it faster than you can withdraw your hand (dropping something his right hand was clutching earlier), leads it to his mouth and disappointedly thows it away when he notices it's empty. He then stares dead ahead and mumbles uncomprehensible gibberish, probably maledictions against you.

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.

>i
You are carrying:
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

The hobo tries to spit in your direction, but hits his own leg.

>x hobo
This place is dry and sheltered from the wind, so a hobo has chosen it as his sleeping place. From what you can see the man is old and in poor health. Badly mending... wounds cover the few spots of skin you can see, his face is red and turgid, and his greasy grey hair is scraggy and hasn't been cut in ages.

The poor man wears an outsized coat of brownish-greyish colour against the cold. Brown corduroys and aged black leather shoes without laces complete his outfit. He's sitting in the southwestern corner, looking at you spacily and mumbling something incomprehensive. It seems he's totally drunk.

The hobo mumbles something incomprehensible.

>save
Ok.

>* yay, now the hobo is awak
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>ask hobo about hobo
The hobo tries to sit up but fails miserably and chunters "Huffhmmyummmoron*gasp*rrrpfched losht! Losht!!"
 
The hobo awkwardly crawls in your direction.

The hobo slumps into an orthopaedically questionable position and falls asleep again.

>x flask
A hand-sized, silver-coloured metal flask without any ornaments. The cap is attached to the flask through a thin metal chain so it can't get lost.

>give flask to hobo
You're not holding the flask.

>take flask
Taken.

>x fist
The hands of the hobo show marks of a life full of deprivation: Deep wrinkles, dirt and scurfy old wounds.

>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You can see an Allen key here.

>* there we are
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take allen
Taken.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?

>open hatch
With the help of the Allen key you open the hatch. Behind it is a niche with an archaic fuse box, and a few old looking tools some worker probably left behind. All this looks like this hatch hasn't been opened for a hundred years or so. The niche contains the first candle, the second candle and a mallet.

>* ...a fuse box from 1898?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Apparently Edison has an 1890 patent so maybe not totally implausible
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Apparently Backwater was at the forefront of electrification
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x first
Which do you mean, the first brick or the first candle?

>candle
A white electric candle, a good five inches long and as thick as your thumb. On one end is a glass bulb, on the other is a threaded metal base. It is unlit.

>x first brick
One of the seven bricks that form the semicircular ledge above the recess with the strange altar in it.

>push first brick
You knock on the first brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

>push second brick
You knock on the second brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

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

>push third brick
You knock on the third brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

>push fourth brack
You can't see any such thing.

>push fourth brick
You knock on the fourth brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

From further down the tunnel you hear the sound of a drop of water splashing into a puddle of... water.

>push fifth brick
You knock on the fifth brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.

>push sixth brick
You knock on the sixth brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

>push seventh brick
You knock on the seventh brick for a few times. The brick emits a somewhat hollow sound, and if your imagination isn't playing a prank on you it gave way a very little bit, not even a millimeter. Mysterious. Would it yield something to apply more force to this brick?

>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x hatch
Behind the hatch is a niche with an archaic fuse box. The niche is about seven or eight inches deep, and the space has obviously been used by workers as storage space for tools and other stuff. Currently the niche contains the first candle, the second candle and a mallet.

>take mallet
Taken.

>x box
(the ornate metallic box)
The palm-sized box seems to be carved out of a dull gray metal.  The lid is adorned with elaborate painted panels. On one side you see a large flat button and five smaller engraved buttons. 

>x fuse
The rear wall of the niche in the northwestern wall is made up of some fuse box of sorts. It consists of three stacked panels with holes with screw threads in each of them. The top panel has three holes, the bottom panel as well, and the middle panel is missing the middle hole, where instead a badge with the Vermont United Gas and Electric Company logo is attached. There are old fuses in the bottom left and top middle holes.

Next to the fuses is a large switch labeled "Southeast Tunnel." It is currently switched off.

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.

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

>* this is compex!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x mallet
An antique-looking wooden mallet about 30 cm in length, with a wooden shaft and a compact rubber head. It reminds you of something you'd use to play a glockenspiel or a xylophone.

>hit first
Which do you mean, the first brick or the first candle?

>brick
You carefully hit the first brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'C'.

>hit second brick
You carefully hit the second brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'D'.

>hit third brick
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

>hit fourth brick
You carefully hit the fourth brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'F'.

>hit five brick
You can't use multiple objects with that verb.

>hit fifth brick
You carefully hit the fifth brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'G'.

You feel an air draft for a second. Where did that come from?

>hit sixth brick
You carefully hit the sixth brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'A'.

>hit seventh brick
You carefully hit the seventh brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'B'.

>x first candle
A white electric candle, a good five inches long and as thick as your thumb. On one end is a glass bulb, on the other is a threaded metal base. It is unlit.

>x second candle
A white electric candle, a good five inches long and as thick as your thumb. On one end is a glass bulb, on the other is a threaded metal base. It is unlit.

>put first candle in candalabra
You can't see any such thing.

>x altar
 Looks indeed like someone has built an altar here, in this godforsaken place. The recess has an extent of about 15 by 25 inches and is about 10 inches deep. The upper part is arched in symmetry with the tunnel, with seven slightly protruding bricks arranged in a semicircle rounding out the structure towards the front. The base of the altar features a candleholder with a circle of eight sockets. All sockets are empty. The rear wall is almost completely taken up by the picture of a girl.

>x candleholder
In the middle of the altar-like recess is a candle holder with eight sockets in the shape of a circle. The sockets are small, like thimbles, and probably made from brazen, or bronze. All sockets are empty.

>push first candle in candleholder
You can't see any such thing.

>put first candle in candleholder
(first taking the first candle)
That can't contain things.

>put first candle in first socket
You can't see any such thing.

>x socket
Which do you mean, the top left socket, the top middle socket, the top right socket, the middle left socket, the middle right socket, the bottom left socket, the bottom middle socket or the bottom right socket?

>* oh geez
You can't see any such thing.

>x top left
A threaded metal socket.

>put first candle in top left
You screw the first candle into the top left socket.

You hear a sound from somewhere down the tunnel. Maybe a rat. Hopefully a rat.

>put second in top middle
Which do you mean, the second brick or the second candle?

>candle
(first taking the second candle)
You screw the second candle into the top middle socket.
	
>l
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high and leads into total, ominously silent darkness. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x girld
You can't see any such thing.

>x girl
The photo has faded over the years so it's hard to make out details. Her dark hair and the simple blouse or dress she's wearing indicate the picture is very old - early 20th century or even older, you're not sure. She's wearing a lace collar held together by a brooch. Her hair style is weird from today's point of view - curly at the forehead, then short, flat and upswept at the back of the head. Her dark eyes are almond-shaped, and she has high cheekbones.

>x picture
Most of the rear wall of the recess is taken up by the picture of a girl. It looks like a print of a black and white photo and was probably glued to the wall, for no other means of attachment can be seen. The girl itself seems to be in her late teens or early twenties - in the dim light down here it's hard to tell any details. The photo is a portrait photo with a three-quarter view - she is standing a bit sideways but looking at the camera. Part of her upper body is visible.

Below the photo there's a free space of about 5 cm that's raw stone. There seems to be some writing on that free space, but with the current light conditions you can't make out what it says.

>* oh, OK, these are distinct
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x fuse
The rear wall of the niche in the northwestern wall is made up of some fuse box of sorts. It consists of three stacked panels with holes with screw threads in each of them. The top panel has three holes, the bottom panel as well, and the middle panel is missing the middle hole, where instead a badge with the Vermont United Gas and Electric Company logo is attached. There are old fuses in the bottom left and top middle holes.

Next to the fuses is a large switch labeled "Southeast Tunnel." It is currently switched off.

>turn on switch
You flip the power switch to the on position, and the southeast tunnel lights up.

>* oh thank god
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>x old
You can't see any such thing.

>x holes
The silverfish have damaged the book severely. Only the earliest pages are untouched.

>put first in bottom left
Which do you mean, the first candle or the first brick?

>candle
(first taking the first candle)
You screw the first candle into the bottom left socket.

With an abrupt pop, both candles flicker into brightness. You must have completed a circuit.

>x picture
Most of the rear wall of the recess is taken up by the picture of a girl. It looks like a print of a black and white photo and was probably glued to the wall, for no other means of attachment can be seen. The girl itself seems to be in her late teens or early twenties - in the dim light down here it's hard to tell any details. The photo is a portrait photo with a three-quarter view - she is standing a bit sideways but looking at the camera. Part of her upper body is visible.

The candles in the sockets illuminate the word someone has painted on the wall under the poster: "CEECEE". Obviously her name was Cecilia.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.

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

>hit first brick
You carefully hit the first brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'C'.

>hit second brick
You carefully hit the second brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'D'.

>undo
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
[Previous turn undone.]

>hit third brick
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

>hit third brick
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

>hit first brick
You carefully hit the first brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'C'.

>hit third brick
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

>hit third brick
You carefully hit the third brick with your mallet. The resulting sound is hollow, but strangely high and volumeless, as if there was but a small lacuna behind it. You think the note played was 'E'.

As soon as you gently hit the brick with the hammer you hear a grinding noise from somewhere behind the brick wall. You frightenedly jump backwards as a part of the wall, the "altar" being a good part of it, slowly swings backwards like a door, making horrible grinding noises. Finally the grinding stops, and a forbidding black hole gapes in the northeastern wall, leaving you with fearful thoughts what unspeakable evil might lurk inside.

>* well there are monsters to the SE too...
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>* let's try to get our stuff first
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>se

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

"BOO!" The apparent source of the voice you've been hearing stands before you: a woman about your height, smiling and waving at you from a small niche in the wall to the north.

You can also see a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate, a broken knife handle, an enormous dessicated rat corpse, a piece of yellowed newsprint, a thin steel key, a torn notebook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors, a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), a dull machete, some rotten flowers, a copper urn (empty), a silver urn (empty), a bronze urn (empty), a key from an urn, some mildewed leather gloves, a gallon jug of white vinegar, a pair of garden shears, a bronze key green from age, a rusty flathead screwdriver, a trophy for a dog race, a glass shard, a black business card, an aluminum key, loose bricks, a clipboard, a rusty piece of metal, some yellowed newspapers, a fungal powder, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card, a book list (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock, a library card (smelling faintly of mildew), Peter's jacket, a backpack features guide, a trolley schedule, a Jansport backpack (in which are a hidden pocket (empty), a key pocket (empty), a book pocket (in which is a moldy, waterlogged journal), a side pocket (empty) and a trash pocket (empty)), a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew), an antique locket (closed), a cast iron spire, a wad of cash, a repaired page, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, a postcard of Big Ben, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), a label, a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect, a half-full styrofoam coffee cup, a golden eyepiece, a plastic bubble (empty), a suitcase, a familiar gold wristwatch, a brass winding key, a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol here.

"Hey! Come closer! Can you hear me?"

>take all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

brass nameplate: Taken.

broken knife handle: Taken.

enormous dessicated rat corpse: Taken.

piece of yellowed newsprint: Taken.

thin steel key: Taken.

torn notebook: Taken.

The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Taken.

pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

 You can see no further into the grave.
rotten flowers: Taken.

copper urn: Taken.

silver urn: Taken.

bronze urn: Taken.

key from an urn: Taken.

mildewed leather gloves: Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar: Taken.

pair of garden shears: Taken.

bronze key green from age: Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver: Taken.

trophy for a dog race: Taken.

glass shard: Taken.

black business card: Taken.

aluminum key: Taken.

loose bricks: Taken.

clipboard: Taken.

rusty piece of metal: Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

fungal powder: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card: Taken.

book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock: Taken.

library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Peter's jacket: Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

trolley schedule: Taken.

Jansport backpack: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

cast iron spire: Taken.

wad of cash: Taken.

repaired page: Taken.

diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben: Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

label: Taken.

giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

golden eyepiece: Taken.

plastic bubble: Taken.

suitcase: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

brass winding key: Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Taken.

dull machete: Taken.

"Hey, you! Over here! You're not deaf, are you?"

>undo
Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
[Previous turn undone.]

>* Oh wait there was a pewter box...
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Looks like this is Drew Mochak, from the IFDB author list
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* He co-wrote a game called Obituary from 09, which won that year's Introcomp
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* sounds horror-y from the one review
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>* OK phew, we can get out
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>d
(first opening the the rusty metal hatch)
Using the key as a handle, you slowly, painfully drag the hatch open as it screeches in protest.

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

You can also see a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate, a broken knife handle, an enormous dessicated rat corpse, a piece of yellowed newsprint, a thin steel key, a torn notebook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors, a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), a dull machete, some rotten flowers, a copper urn (empty), a silver urn (empty), a bronze urn (empty), a key from an urn, some mildewed leather gloves, a gallon jug of white vinegar, a pair of garden shears, a bronze key green from age, a rusty flathead screwdriver, a trophy for a dog race, a glass shard, a black business card, an aluminum key, loose bricks, a clipboard, a rusty piece of metal, some yellowed newspapers, a fungal powder, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card, a book list (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock, a library card (smelling faintly of mildew), Peter's jacket, a backpack features guide, a trolley schedule, a Jansport backpack (in which are a hidden pocket (empty), a key pocket (empty), a book pocket (in which is a moldy, waterlogged journal), a side pocket (empty) and a trash pocket (empty)), a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew), an antique locket (closed), a cast iron spire, a wad of cash, a repaired page, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, a postcard of Big Ben, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), a label, a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect, a half-full styrofoam coffee cup, a golden eyepiece, a plastic bubble (empty), a suitcase, a familiar gold wristwatch, a brass winding key, a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol here.

"Psst! Hey! Over here! Yoohooo?"

>x alcove
A woman, dressed in filthy clothes, slouches against a wall. She turns to look at you, staring at you with eyes eerily similar to yours. When you look away, she does too. It's hard to tell much about her features from this light without getting closer.

"Psst! Hey you! Come closer!  Hellooooo?"

>x pewter
A dull pewter box, unaccountably heavy. Your gaze skids over the engravings. Damp and glistening, they look very nearly alive.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Hey, you! This way! Can you hear?"

>* oh that's the one from the family plot, it's just sloppy coding
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>take all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

brass nameplate: Taken.

broken knife handle: Taken.

enormous dessicated rat corpse: Taken.

piece of yellowed newsprint: Taken.

thin steel key: Taken.

torn notebook: Taken.

The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Taken.

pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

 You can see no further into the grave.
rotten flowers: Taken.

copper urn: Taken.

silver urn: Taken.

bronze urn: Taken.

key from an urn: Taken.

mildewed leather gloves: Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar: Taken.

pair of garden shears: Taken.

bronze key green from age: Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver: Taken.

trophy for a dog race: Taken.

glass shard: Taken.

black business card: Taken.

aluminum key: Taken.

loose bricks: Taken.

clipboard: Taken.

rusty piece of metal: Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

fungal powder: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card: Taken.

book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock: Taken.

library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Peter's jacket: Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

trolley schedule: Taken.

Jansport backpack: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

cast iron spire: Taken.

wad of cash: Taken.

repaired page: Taken.

diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben: Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

label: Taken.

giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

golden eyepiece: Taken.

plastic bubble: Taken.

suitcase: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

brass winding key: Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Taken.

dull machete: Taken.

"Psst! Hey you! I'm waiting! Yoohooo?"

>l
Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Psst! Over here! Can you hear?"

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

>save
Ok.

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

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

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>* OK, checks out
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>* we did pretty good when flying blind
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>* let's check NE for mapping
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

>* oh, this is just a sub-division, not a real room (map is getting cramped so I'm omitting)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x battle
You can't see any such thing.

>x cofee
You can't see any such thing.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a pair of dandelions. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

>x bottle
Which do you mean, the bottle of Pepto-Bismol or the metal flask?

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

>x empty bottle
You can't see any such thing.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>drop bottle
Which do you mean, the bottle of Pepto-Bismol or the metal flask?

>both
bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Dropped.
metal flask: Dropped.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

>take bottle
You can't see any such thing.

>x it
You can't see 'it' (nothing) at the moment.

>x empty
You can't see any such thing.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You can see a metal flask and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol here.

>take all
metal flask: Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken.

the second candle: As you remove the second candle from its socket, the bulbs of both candles grow dark.

Taken.

the first candle: Taken.

brown corduroys: That would be theft, and really evil.
outsized coat: That would be theft, and really evil.
Tun1-shoes: That would be theft, and really evil.

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

>take flask
You already have that.

>take bottle
Which do you mean, the bottle of Pepto-Bismol or the metal flask?

>both
bottle of Pepto-Bismol: You already have that.
metal flask: You already have that.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

>* Ok bottle isn't really here
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x walls
You can't see any such thing.

>x wall
You can't see any such thing.

>x altar
You can't see any such thing.

>x crates
Three crates were left behind by the last visitor of this chamber. They're small wooden freight crates as you've seen them in old movies, with hinged lids with logos of freight companies on them. One crate in a corner is quite large, the second one next to it is pretty small, and theres a medium-sized crate in the middle of the chamber. Hopefully you don't have to shift them around to achieve something.

>x logos
Three crates were left behind by the last visitor of this chamber. They're small wooden freight crates as you've seen them in old movies, with hinged lids with logos of freight companies on them. One crate in a corner is quite large, the second one next to it is pretty small, and theres a medium-sized crate in the middle of the chamber. Hopefully you don't have to shift them around to achieve something.

>open large
(the enormous dessicated rat corpse)
It isn't something you can open.

>* priorities, nitocris!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>open crate
Which do you mean, the large crate, the medium-sized crate or the small crate?

>large
It isn't something you can open.

>open large crate
It isn't something you can open.

>* I thought the lids were hinged?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>open large lid
You can't see any such thing.

>x lid
(elaborate painted panels)
There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake.

>x medium
A medium-sized wooden crate.

>open it
You open the medium-sized crate, revealing an old newspaper.

>x old
A thin steel key with a somewhat old-fashioned look.

>x old newspaper
It is an old issue of the Backwater Chronicle, a local newspaper that ceased to be decades ago. This issue is dated July 31, 1920. The local museum should see this! It's a pain with this dim light, but if you holded the newspaper into that little light shining in from the entrance, you might be able to read it.

>read it
(first taking the old newspaper)
The next article is also quite interesting:

ANOTHER MURDER?
Police confirmed yesterday that missing Carola Parris, 22, is dead. Her body was found on Wednesday in the woods near Copper's Mill. The body of the popular bank clerk is said to have been battered by animals, but according to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, the cause of death was a cut to the throat. Yesterday, a small crowd gathered in front of the Backwater Police station, demanding vociferously an end to the series of killings of young women that started with the death of Cecilia "Ceecee" Pickman almost a year ago. Deputy Chief of police promised a "wholehearted" investigation.

The words "almost a year ago" have been underlined so heavily that they're nearly crossed out. "10 months 24 days" is scrawled in the margin with fading ink.


>* hmm, a significant date?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>read newspaper
The next article is also quite interesting:

IT'S JUST A COLOSSAL SQUID, SAYS SCIENTIST
The finding of a part of a giant tentacle at Abenaki Beach three weeks ago has finalkly been explained. According to James O'Brien, US navy marine biologist, the giant slice once belonged to a colossal squid (Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni), a deep see dweller rarely seen at the surface and thus widely uncharted. The biological pattern of the tentacle slice matches those of an exemplar the US navy possesses, O'Brien told the Chronicle. He added that the navy would conduct further examinations, and that possible further findings should immediately be reported to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Because of its enormous diameter of more than three feet, speculations about the origin of the tentacle slice had arosen among the locals.


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

>read newspaper
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

LOGISTICS COMPLEX DEDICATED
In a festive act the new logistics complex of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company at Ferryman's Dock has been dedicated. In the presence of mayor Slater and other notabilities, EITC owner Mr. Humphrey Littlewit held a speech about the possibilities the new complex opens up for Backwater, with cranes able to unload two five-gross-tons cargo ships from New York or Burlington simultanously within four hours and an equally fast re-consignment for distribution via commercial vehicle to the whole of Vermont. Mr. Littlewit emphasized the importance of the logistics complex for the war enfeebled economy of Backwater, but also brought to mind the nine persons who died in the mysterious fire that destroyed the old, smaller complex. A photo shows Littlewit handing the tall mayor a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon barring the entrance of the storage depot.


>* OK, maybe there is sufficient distribution infrastructure to make the meatpacking plant work!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>read newspaper
You turn the pages and check the next article:

THE GLOBE TO HOST OPERETTA
Backwater lives to see a cultural highlight undreamt of: Starting on November 18, The Globe theatre hosts a performance of the operetta "Die blaue Mazur" by Austrian composer Franz Lehár, only half a year after its premiere in Vienna. New York's San Carlo Opera Company brings the play to Backwater and announces the appearance of famed Italian tenor Lamberto Bergamini as Count Olinski and La Scala soprano Gilda dalla Rizza as Countess Blanka von Lossin. Impresario Fortune Gallo expects the three scheduled performances to be sold out soon after ticket sales start on August 18.


>g
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

CHARITY BALL AT BACKWATER HIGH
The auditorium of Backwater High saw a festive ball on Satday evening when freemasonry lodge Order of the Eastern Star invited local notables to the yearly Rosencrantz Ball. While the Providence Hot Jazz Orchestra conducted by Robert "Bop" Shindlaw played sudatory tunes and while the kitchen brigade of the Boardwalk Inn provided small delicacies as well as inspiring drinks, money was collected through admission and raffle ticket sales to appease the dolor of the victims of February's fatal spring tide. Among the guests were mayor Joe Slater (accompanied by his daughters) and surgeon in residence Dr. Basil Elton (accompanied by his third wife, Lily). An accompanying picture shows mayor Slater clinking glasses with surgeon Basil Elton, the latter one being a head taller than the dignitary.


>g
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

BACKWATER POLICE INAUGURATES CAR
Yesterday the Backwater Police inaugurated a police car determined to support urgent operations. The Chevrolet 490 Touring is a generous donation from Mr. Humphrey Littlewit, founder and owner of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company, who said the car is supposed to make Backwater's streets safer by giving the police means that were common in cities like Boston or Providence. Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde is quoted saying "Finally Backwater Police closes the gap on bigger neighbouring cities regarding prompt presence at the place of action. This is the first emergency vehicle the Backwater Police has at its disposal, and the police and the citizens of Backwater are very grateful to Mr. Humphrey Littlewit for this generous donation." An accompanying picture shows the Chief of police looking up to the industrialist holding his speech while looking into the camera. 

>* aha, confirmation that there is indeed a city police force (or at least there was, but it would be odd for it to be disbanded I'd think)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>g
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>read newspaper
Flying over the headlines you get caught by one article:

A LESSON IN PATHOLOGY
Renown surgeon Dr. Basil Elton held a private lecture in pathology yesterday that the entire Backwater Police force attended. In the basement of his practice (that serves as a branch of the pathologic department of the Providence hospital) explained classical traces of external forceful impact at recently deceased persons. The cause for the lecture was the tragic death of young pregnant shop assistant Cecilia Pickman which was declared an accident until Dr. Elton found evidence of foul play weeks later. A photo shows Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde and three of his men attentively watching Dr. Elton cutting into a hematoma on a dead human body.


>read newspaper
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

IT'S JUST A COLOSSAL SQUID, SAYS SCIENTIST
The finding of a part of a giant tentacle at Abenaki Beach three weeks ago has finalkly been explained. According to James O'Brien, US navy marine biologist, the giant slice once belonged to a colossal squid (Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni), a deep see dweller rarely seen at the surface and thus widely uncharted. The biological pattern of the tentacle slice matches those of an exemplar the US navy possesses, O'Brien told the Chronicle. He added that the navy would conduct further examinations, and that possible further findings should immediately be reported to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Because of its enormous diameter of more than three feet, speculations about the origin of the tentacle slice had arosen among the locals.


>read newspaper
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

THE GLOBE TO HOST OPERETTA
Backwater lives to see a cultural highlight undreamt of: Starting on November 18, The Globe theatre hosts a performance of the operetta "Die blaue Mazur" by Austrian composer Franz Lehár, only half a year after its premiere in Vienna. New York's San Carlo Opera Company brings the play to Backwater and announces the appearance of famed Italian tenor Lamberto Bergamini as Count Olinski and La Scala soprano Gilda dalla Rizza as Countess Blanka von Lossin. Impresario Fortune Gallo expects the three scheduled performances to be sold out soon after ticket sales start on August 18.


>read newspaper
The next article is also quite interesting:

CHARITY BALL AT BACKWATER HIGH
The auditorium of Backwater High saw a festive ball on Satday evening when freemasonry lodge Order of the Eastern Star invited local notables to the yearly Rosencrantz Ball. While the Providence Hot Jazz Orchestra conducted by Robert "Bop" Shindlaw played sudatory tunes and while the kitchen brigade of the Boardwalk Inn provided small delicacies as well as inspiring drinks, money was collected through admission and raffle ticket sales to appease the dolor of the victims of February's fatal spring tide. Among the guests were mayor Joe Slater (accompanied by his daughters) and surgeon in residence Dr. Basil Elton (accompanied by his third wife, Lily). An accompanying picture shows mayor Slater clinking glasses with surgeon Basil Elton, the latter one being a head taller than the dignitary.


>read newspaper
Flying over the headlines you get caught by one article:

ANOTHER MURDER?
Police confirmed yesterday that missing Carola Parris, 22, is dead. Her body was found on Wednesday in the woods near Copper's Mill. The body of the popular bank clerk is said to have been battered by animals, but according to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, the cause of death was a cut to the throat. Yesterday, a small crowd gathered in front of the Backwater Police station, demanding vociferously an end to the series of killings of young women that started with the death of Cecilia "Ceecee" Pickman almost a year ago. Deputy Chief of police promised a "wholehearted" investigation.

The words "almost a year ago" have been underlined so heavily that they're nearly crossed out. "10 months 24 days" is scrawled in the margin with fading ink.


>read newspaper
The next article is also quite interesting:

BACKWATER POLICE INAUGURATES CAR
Yesterday the Backwater Police inaugurated a police car determined to support urgent operations. The Chevrolet 490 Touring is a generous donation from Mr. Humphrey Littlewit, founder and owner of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company, who said the car is supposed to make Backwater's streets safer by giving the police means that were common in cities like Boston or Providence. Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde is quoted saying "Finally Backwater Police closes the gap on bigger neighbouring cities regarding prompt presence at the place of action. This is the first emergency vehicle the Backwater Police has at its disposal, and the police and the citizens of Backwater are very grateful to Mr. Humphrey Littlewit for this generous donation." An accompanying picture shows the Chief of police looking up to the industrialist holding his speech while looking into the camera. 

>read newspaper
Flying over the headlines you get caught by one article:

LOGISTICS COMPLEX DEDICATED
In a festive act the new logistics complex of the Littlewit East Indian Trading Company at Ferryman's Dock has been dedicated. In the presence of mayor Slater and other notabilities, EITC owner Mr. Humphrey Littlewit held a speech about the possibilities the new complex opens up for Backwater, with cranes able to unload two five-gross-tons cargo ships from New York or Burlington simultanously within four hours and an equally fast re-consignment for distribution via commercial vehicle to the whole of Vermont. Mr. Littlewit emphasized the importance of the logistics complex for the war enfeebled economy of Backwater, but also brought to mind the nine persons who died in the mysterious fire that destroyed the old, smaller complex. A photo shows Littlewit handing the tall mayor a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon barring the entrance of the storage depot.


>* OK, guess that's all of them
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x small
(the small light bulb)
The filament inside has burned through.

>x small crate
The smallest of the three crates is placed close to the wall, next to the large crate. Its lid bears the writing "Backwater Library". An antique padlock keeps the crate shut.

>* aha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x padlock
The padlock has numbers from 0 to 9 on it, so it's probably a combination lock, but it's unlike any other combination lock you know.  The metal holder sits on top of a thick metal circle. The figures are arranged in a circle around the middle which makes the lock look a little like a clock. In the middle there's a knob with a pointer on it that currently points towards the 0.

>* ok OK
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x figures
You can't see any such thing.

>x holder
You can't see any such thing.

>x circle
The button is engraved with a circle.

>x knob
The metal knob, the size of your thumb's fingernail and firmly attached to the padlock, currently points towards the 0.

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

>x large
(the enormous dessicated rat corpse)
It's the size of a large cat or a small dog, but it is definitely a rat. It is completely dried and its tail is missing, but it shows no other signs of decay. Dust is matted in what remains of its fur.

>x large crate
In the corner is a crate that is the largest of the three. As the others it is made of light, sturdy wood. The hinged lid bears an emblem of a dog listening to a grammophone, but with no company logo or other hints as to who used to be the owner of this crate.

>open it
It isn't something you can open.

>open large crate
It isn't something you can open.

>* huh?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>x hinged
You can't see any such thing.

>push large crate
It is fixed in place.

>* but for serious
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x dog
In the corner is a crate that is the largest of the three. As the others it is made of light, sturdy wood. The hinged lid bears an emblem of a dog listening to a grammophone, but with no company logo or other hints as to who used to be the owner of this crate.

>open dog
It isn't something you can open.

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

>look in
You see nothing unexpected in that direction.

>look in large crate
You give the large crate a thorough look. There are several things inside of it, but what's most eye-catching about it is definitely this old phonograph in it.

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

>* must already be open
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* This is definitely an old-school room
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x phonograph
A phonograph from the early 20th century. This specimen is laid-out for sound transmission through a horn loudspeaker, so it was probably built before 1920 when this technique started to be considered unaesthetic or even vulgar. This gem definitely belongs in a museum! It bears the logo of its manufacturer, the Victor Talking Machine Company. The right side panel of the phonograph features a crank.

>take it
You lift the phonograph out of the crate. It's heavy, and probably very fragile, so you carefully place it onto the ground.

>x logo
You can't see any such thing.

>turn crank
You wind up the phonograph by turning the crank until a soft "klick" indicates it's enough.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>i
You are carrying:
  an old newspaper
  the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the second candle
  a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
  a metal flask
  a dull machete
  a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
  a moldy, waterlogged journal
  a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)
  a brass winding key
  a familiar gold wristwatch
  a suitcase (open but empty)
  a plastic bubble (open but empty)
  a golden eyepiece
  a glass jar containing an insect
  a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
  a postcard of Big Ben
  the diary of Phyllis Cragne
  a repaired page
  a wad of cash
  a cast iron spire
  an antique locket (closed)
  a Jansport backpack (open)
    a hidden pocket (open but empty)
    a key pocket (open but empty)
    a book pocket (open but empty)
    a side pocket (open but empty)
    a trash pocket (open but empty)
  a trolley schedule
  a backpack features guide
  Peter's jacket
  a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a grimy rock
  a long hooked pole
  a soggy tome
  a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an employee ID card
  a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a fungal powder
  some yellowed newspapers
  a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a clipboard
  loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an aluminum key
  a black business card
  a glass shard
  a trophy for a dog race
  a rusty flathead screwdriver
  a bronze key green from age
  a pair of garden shears
  a gallon jug of white vinegar
  some mildewed leather gloves
  a key from an urn
  a bronze urn (open but empty)
  a silver urn (open but empty)
  a copper urn (open but empty)
  some rotten flowers
  a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
  The Lives of the Roman Emperors
  a torn notebook
  a thin steel key
  a piece of yellowed newsprint
  an enormous dessicated rat corpse
  a broken knife handle
  a brass nameplate
  a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a mallet
  an Allen key
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>x phon
You can't see any such thing.

>l
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>x phonograph
A phonograph from the early 20th century. This specimen is laid-out for sound transmission through a horn loudspeaker, so it was probably built before 1920 when this technique started to be considered unaesthetic or even vulgar. This gem definitely belongs in a museum! It bears the logo of its manufacturer, the Victor Talking Machine Company. The right side panel of the phonograph features a crank.

>x panel
You can't see any such thing.

>* I guess there's no cylinder or record here?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>turn crank
The phonograph is wound up already.

>push play
You can't see any such thing.

>play phonograph
>* oops!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  an old newspaper
  the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the second candle
  a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
  a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a dull machete
  a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
  a moldy, waterlogged journal
  a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)
  a brass winding key
  a familiar gold wristwatch
  a suitcase (open but empty)
  a plastic bubble (open but empty)
  a golden eyepiece
  a glass jar containing an insect
  a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
  a postcard of Big Ben
  the diary of Phyllis Cragne
  a repaired page
  a wad of cash
  a cast iron spire
  an antique locket (closed)
  a Jansport backpack (open)
    a hidden pocket (open but empty)
    a key pocket (open but empty)
    a book pocket (open but empty)
    a side pocket (open but empty)
    a trash pocket (open but empty)
  a trolley schedule
  a backpack features guide
  Peter's jacket
  a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a grimy rock
  a long hooked pole
  a soggy tome
  a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an employee ID card
  a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a fungal powder
  some yellowed newspapers
  a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a clipboard
  loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an aluminum key
  a black business card
  a glass shard
  a trophy for a dog race
  a rusty flathead screwdriver
  a bronze key green from age
  a pair of garden shears
  a gallon jug of white vinegar
  some mildewed leather gloves
  a key from an urn
  a bronze urn (open but empty)
  a silver urn (open but empty)
  a copper urn (open but empty)
  some rotten flowers
  a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
  The Lives of the Roman Emperors
  a torn notebook
  a thin steel key
  a piece of yellowed newsprint
  an enormous dessicated rat corpse
  a broken knife handle
  a brass nameplate
  a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a mallet
  an Allen key
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug
  a hovering spark (haunting you)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>x large brass
You can't see any such thing.

>x large brass key
A large and important-looking brass key. Someone wrote a two digit number on the bow. It's mostly worn off, but the first digit looks like a 3.

>x small brass key
A small brass key used for winding a clock.

>* Too many brass keys!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* someone needed to code one made of antimony
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>set dial to 4
There's no need to try combinations when the suitcase is already open.

>w
You can't go that way.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>set knob to 2
The knob can't be set to that.

>x knob
The metal knob, the size of your thumb's fingernail and firmly attached to the padlock, currently points towards the 0.

>turn knob to 2
The knob can't be set to that.

>turn knob to 1
The knob can't be set to that.

>turn knob to 0
The knob can't be set to that.

>x knob
The metal knob, the size of your thumb's fingernail and firmly attached to the padlock, currently points towards the 0.

>turn knob
It is fixed in place.

>set knob
You can't see any such thing.

>set padlock to 2
The padlock can't be set to that.

>l
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

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

>x padlock
The padlock has numbers from 0 to 9 on it, so it's probably a combination lock, but it's unlike any other combination lock you know.  The metal holder sits on top of a thick metal circle. The figures are arranged in a circle around the middle which makes the lock look a little like a clock. In the middle there's a knob with a pointer on it that currently points towards the 0.

>turn pointer 
You can't see any such thing.

>x pointer
You can't see any such thing.

>x 0
You can't see any such thing.

>x 1
You can't see any such thing.

>x circle
The button is engraved with a circle.

>x button
Which do you mean, the round button, the triangular button, large flat button, the button with an X-shape on it, the button with a Y-shape on it, the button with a V-shape on it, the button with a line on it or the button with a circle on it?

>round
You see nothing special about the round button.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>drop all
old newspaper: Dropped.
bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Dropped.
metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
dull machete: Dropped.
moldy, waterlogged journal: Dropped.
small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Dropped.
brass winding key: Dropped.
familiar gold wristwatch: Dropped.
suitcase: Dropped.
plastic bubble: Dropped.
golden eyepiece: Dropped.
glass jar containing an insect: Dropped.
giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
label: Dropped.
pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Dropped.
postcard of Big Ben: Dropped.
diary of Phyllis Cragne: Dropped.
repaired page: Dropped.
wad of cash: Dropped.
cast iron spire: Dropped.
antique locket: Dropped.
Jansport backpack: Dropped.
trolley schedule: Dropped.
backpack features guide: Dropped.
Peter's jacket: Dropped.
library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
grimy rock: Dropped.
long hooked pole: Dropped.
soggy tome: Dropped.
book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
employee ID card: Dropped.
shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
fungal powder: You manage to rub the powder off your hands. It seems to disintegrate rather quickly.
yellowed newspapers: Dropped.
rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
clipboard: Dropped.
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
aluminum key: Dropped.
black business card: Dropped.
glass shard: Dropped.
trophy for a dog race: Dropped.
a rusty flathead screwdriver: Dropped.
bronze key green from age: Dropped.
pair of garden shears: Dropped.
a gallon jug of white vinegar: Dropped.
mildewed leather gloves: Dropped.
key from an urn: Dropped.
bronze urn: Dropped.
silver urn: Dropped.
copper urn: Dropped.
rotten flowers: Dropped.
half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Dropped.

>undo
Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
[Previous turn undone.]

>sw
You can't go that way.

>n
You can't go that way.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>drop all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
old newspaper: Dropped.
bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Dropped.
metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
dull machete: Dropped.
moldy, waterlogged journal: Dropped.
small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Dropped.
brass winding key: Dropped.
familiar gold wristwatch: Dropped.
suitcase: Dropped.
plastic bubble: Dropped.
golden eyepiece: Dropped.
glass jar containing an insect: Dropped.
giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
label: Dropped.
pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Dropped.
postcard of Big Ben: Dropped.
diary of Phyllis Cragne: Dropped.
repaired page: Dropped.
wad of cash: Dropped.
cast iron spire: Dropped.
antique locket: Dropped.
Jansport backpack: Dropped.
trolley schedule: Dropped.
backpack features guide: Dropped.
Peter's jacket: Dropped.
library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
grimy rock: Dropped.
long hooked pole: Dropped.
soggy tome: Dropped.
book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
fungal powder: You manage to rub the powder off your hands. It seems to disintegrate rather quickly.
yellowed newspapers: Dropped.
rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
clipboard: Dropped.
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
aluminum key: Dropped.
black business card: Dropped.
glass shard: Dropped.
trophy for a dog race: Dropped.
a rusty flathead screwdriver: Dropped.
bronze key green from age: Dropped.
pair of garden shears: Dropped.
a gallon jug of white vinegar: Dropped.
mildewed leather gloves: Dropped.
key from an urn: Dropped.
bronze urn: Dropped.
silver urn: Dropped.
copper urn: Dropped.
rotten flowers: Dropped.
pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Dropped.
torn notebook: Dropped.
thin steel key: Dropped.
piece of yellowed newsprint: Dropped.
enormous dessicated rat corpse: Dropped.
broken knife handle: Dropped.
brass nameplate: Dropped.
waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Dropped.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>x knob
The metal knob, the size of your thumb's fingernail and firmly attached to the padlock, currently points towards the 0.

>set knob to 1
You turn the knob to 1.

>* whew!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>set knob to 2
You turn the knob to 2.

>set knob to 9
You turn the knob to 9.

>x knob
The metal knob, the size of your thumb's fingernail and firmly attached to the padlock, currently points towards the 9.

>x small
The smallest of the three crates is placed close to the wall, next to the large crate. Its lid bears the writing "Backwater Library". An antique padlock keeps the crate shut.

>x wall
You can't see any such thing.

>x medium crate
A medium-sized wooden crate.

>* coffee implies we should be able to get the combo here?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>x large crate
In the corner is a crate that is the largest of the three. As the others it is made of light, sturdy wood. The hinged lid bears an emblem of a dog listening to a grammophone, but with no company logo or other hints as to who used to be the owner of this crate.

>look in it
You give the large crate a thorough look. There are a couple of things left in the crate, including this horn loudspeaker that catches your eye.

>* oh, FFS
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x loudspeaker
A brazen horn loudspeaker, funnel-shaped, about as big as the phonograph it belongs to. The funnel walls are rather thin so that the loudspeaker is not too heavy. It leads into a thread with which it can be screwed on the phonograph.

>take it
Taken.

>attach it to phonograph
You would achieve nothing by this.

>screw it to phonograph
You screw the horn loudspeaker into the designated hole on the side of the phonograph. The thread cants a little, but with a little nudging here and a lot of swearing there you finally succeed.

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

>look in large crate
You give the large crate a thorough look. At first glance the large crate is empty but for a handful of straws that has somehow resisted rotting. In a burst of courage you stroke the bottom of the crate, and you indeed discover something: There's a flat, square shape there that moves when you try to get hold of it. You bow over the crate and peer into the darkness - it's an old record. Well, not that surprising, given there was a phonograph in the crate.

>take record
Taken.

>x it
An old 12" record in an unlabeled white sleeve. Given this was in a crate together with a phonograph it's probably shellac - did this stuff even last longer than a few years? You feel a surge of curiosity to try the record out with the phonograph you discovered. A red label in the middle of the record could maybe tell you what's on the record, or at least was on it.

>x label
A circular label is attached to the middle of the record, as it's still done today. The font looks very old-fashioned. The label reads "Enrico Caruso and the Red Herring Orchestra: Capo di un'Ancora."

>* Anchorhead, if my cod-Italian is up to snuff
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>take label
That seems to be a part of the old record.

>play record
You carefully put the record on the turntable. Next to it is a switch that you flip - it sets the turntable in motion. Finally you lift the pick-up and place it on the border of the record. A cracking noise from the horn loudspeaker indicates it's working. Exciting!

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

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

>listen
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She came from cordial Texas"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "To abrasive Vermont"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The reason was her sexus"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She was all but flamboyant"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Her husband simply went to work"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Left standing in the rain his spouse"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Forced her to get the keys, this jerk"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The keys to their new horror house"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The broker's office: Locked. Oh please!"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The shit then hit the fan"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Coz she broke in and stole the keys"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And brought them to her man"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "The couple took a stroll through town"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "In love, no sign of tension"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "A sight made our heroine frown:"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Their home, the Verlac mansion"

>g
You hear nothing unexpected.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>* how long is this gonna go?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "There was no electricity"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And so the night came early"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "No nooky, just pudicity"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Her dreams were hurly-burly"

>z
Time passes.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "Next morning hubby goes to work"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And leaves alone his spouse"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "She steals an ID of this jerk"

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "And romps about the house"

>z
Time passes.

Orchestra music sounds from the phonograph.

>z
Time passes.

Enrico Caruso's voice sounds from the phonograph: "At this stage the author ran out of time."

>z
Time passes.

The music from the phonograph fades.

>z
Time passes.

There's only crackling noises coming from the phonograph.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>z
Time passes.

>* ha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x straw
You can't see any such thing.

>look in crate
Which do you mean, the large crate, the medium-sized crate or the small crate?

>large
You give the large crate a thorough look. Apart from a few straws that have not rotted away over the years there's nothing in it anymore.

>* Was that all just an easter egg/red herring?  Fun, but I do need to get that book!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* let's come back
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>
I beg your pardon?

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

You can see a half-full styrofoam coffee cup, a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate, a broken knife handle, an enormous dessicated rat corpse, a piece of yellowed newsprint, a thin steel key, a torn notebook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors, a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), some rotten flowers, a copper urn (empty), a silver urn (empty), a bronze urn (empty), a key from an urn, some mildewed leather gloves, a gallon jug of white vinegar, a pair of garden shears, a bronze key green from age, a rusty flathead screwdriver, a trophy for a dog race, a glass shard, a black business card, an aluminum key, loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew), a clipboard, a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew), some yellowed newspapers, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew), a book list (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock, a library card (smelling faintly of mildew), Peter's jacket, a backpack features guide, a trolley schedule, a Jansport backpack (in which are a hidden pocket (empty), a key pocket (empty), a book pocket (empty), a side pocket (empty) and a trash pocket (empty)), an antique locket (closed), a cast iron spire, a wad of cash, a repaired page, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, a postcard of Big Ben, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), a label, a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect, a golden eyepiece, a plastic bubble (empty), a suitcase, a familiar gold wristwatch, a brass winding key, a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front), a moldy, waterlogged journal, a dull machete, a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew), a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, an old newspaper and a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) here.

>take all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

brass nameplate: Taken.

broken knife handle: Taken.

enormous dessicated rat corpse: Taken.

piece of yellowed newsprint: Taken.

thin steel key: Taken.

torn notebook: Taken.

The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Taken.

pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

 You can see no further into the grave.
rotten flowers: Taken.

copper urn: Taken.

silver urn: Taken.

bronze urn: Taken.

key from an urn: Taken.

mildewed leather gloves: Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar: Taken.

pair of garden shears: Taken.

bronze key green from age: Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver: Taken.

trophy for a dog race: Taken.

glass shard: Taken.

black business card: Taken.

aluminum key: Taken.

loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

clipboard: Taken.

rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock: Taken.

library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Peter's jacket: Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

trolley schedule: Taken.

Jansport backpack: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

cast iron spire: Taken.

wad of cash: Taken.

repaired page: Taken.

diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben: Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

label: Taken.

giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

golden eyepiece: Taken.

plastic bubble: Taken.

suitcase: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

brass winding key: Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken.

old newspaper: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Taken.

dull machete: Taken.

>    x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a bactrian camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a maple leaf. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>se

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! Come closer! Can you hear me?"

>x alcove
A woman, dressed in filthy clothes, slouches against a wall. She turns to look at you, staring at you with eyes eerily similar to yours. When you look away, she does too. It's hard to tell much about her features from this light without getting closer.

"Psst! Hey! Over here! You're not deaf, are you?"

>x woman
A woman, dressed in filthy clothes, slouches against a wall. She turns to look at you, staring at you with eyes eerily similar to yours. When you look away, she does too. It's hard to tell much about her features from this light without getting closer.

"Psst! C'mere! Yoohooo?"

>x door
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door or the tunnel door?

>exit
You can't go that way.

"Psst! Hey! I'm waiting! Can you hear?"

>e
(first opening the tunnel door)
It seems to be locked.

"Psst! Come closer! Can you hear me?"

>unlock it
What do you want to unlock the half-full styrofoam coffee cup with?

>unlock door
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door or the tunnel door?

>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.

"Psst! Hey! I'm waiting! Yoohooo?"

>look in keyhole
You find nothing of interest.

"Hey, you! Over here!  Hellooooo?"

>x red sheet
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the tunnel door.

>x metal
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door, ladder, the library card (smelling faintly of mildew), the rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) or the ornate metallic box?

>exit door
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door or the tunnel door?

>exit door
Which do you mean, the tunnel exit door or the tunnel door?

>tunnel exit door
You can't see any such thing.

>x eyeball
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.

"Psst! Come closer! You're not deaf, are you?"

>x crescents
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.

"Hey, you! Over here! Can you hear?"

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

>unlock crescents with large brass key
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

"Hey, you! This way! Yoohooo?"

>i
You are carrying:
  a dull machete
  a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
  an old newspaper
  a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
  a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a moldy, waterlogged journal
  a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)
  a brass winding key
  a familiar gold wristwatch
  a suitcase (open but empty)
  a plastic bubble (open but empty)
  a golden eyepiece
  a glass jar containing an insect
  a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
  a postcard of Big Ben
  the diary of Phyllis Cragne
  a repaired page
  a wad of cash
  a cast iron spire
  an antique locket (closed)
  a Jansport backpack (open)
    a hidden pocket (open but empty)
    a key pocket (open but empty)
    a book pocket (open but empty)
    a side pocket (open but empty)
    a trash pocket (open but empty)
  a trolley schedule
  a backpack features guide
  Peter's jacket
  a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a grimy rock
  a long hooked pole
  a soggy tome
  a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
  some yellowed newspapers
  a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a clipboard
  loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an aluminum key
  a black business card
  a glass shard
  a trophy for a dog race
  a rusty flathead screwdriver
  a bronze key green from age
  a pair of garden shears
  a gallon jug of white vinegar
  some mildewed leather gloves
  a key from an urn
  a bronze urn (open but empty)
  a silver urn (open but empty)
  a copper urn (open but empty)
  some rotten flowers
  a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
  The Lives of the Roman Emperors
  a torn notebook
  a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a piece of yellowed newsprint
  an enormous dessicated rat corpse
  a broken knife handle
  a brass nameplate
  a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

"Psst! Come closer! You're not deaf, are you?"

>x key
Which do you mean, the brass winding key, the aluminum key, the bronze key green from age, the key from an urn, the thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew), the Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) or the large brass key?

>unlock tunnel exit door with thin steel key
Which do you mean, the tunnel door or tunnel?

>tunnel door
You can't see any such thing.

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

>* Pretty sure we don't have the key
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Psst! Hey! Over here! Can you hear me?"

>ask woman about herself
She smiles and nods in acknowledgment but does not reply.

"Psst! Hey you! Come closer! Can you hear?"

>say yes
You can only do that to something animate.

>say yes to woman
That was a rhetorical question.

"Hey! This way! Can you hear me?"

>n
The woman waves and smiles as you approach. As you slide into the alcove beside her, she reaches back behind her head and pulls a hereto unseen lever. You hear a grinding sound behind you and whirl around just in time to see a stone block slide across the entrance, sealing you inside. You turn towards the woman, only she's not a woman. Her form has broken apart into a wriggling swarm of insects. They surge toward you, leaving behind the bones of some other unlucky sap who must have wandered down here never to escape.

The wrytheing mass flow over you, feeding off your flesh with a frightening frenzy. You open your mouth to scream and it is instantly filled with squirming crawling biting things, chewing at everything they can reach. Your end is painful, but swift; within moments you are stripped down to a pile of bones to join the first.



    *** You have died ***



Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)?
>  undo
Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
[Previous turn undone.]

>* she seems nice
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a bactrian camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

"Hey, you! Come closer! You're not deaf, are you?"

>* OK, just the door I guess
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>save
Ok.

>x newspaper
Which do you mean, the old newspaper, the yellowed newspapers or the piece of yellowed newsprint?

>old
It is an old issue of the Backwater Chronicle, a local newspaper that ceased to be decades ago. This issue is dated July 31, 1920. The local museum should see this! It's a pain with this dim light, but if you holded the newspaper into that little light shining in from the entrance, you might be able to read it.

>g
It is an old issue of the Backwater Chronicle, a local newspaper that ceased to be decades ago. This issue is dated July 31, 1920. The local museum should see this! It's a pain with this dim light, but if you holded the newspaper into that little light shining in from the entrance, you might be able to read it.

>read it
Flying over the headlines you get caught by one article:

A LESSON IN PATHOLOGY
Renown surgeon Dr. Basil Elton held a private lecture in pathology yesterday that the entire Backwater Police force attended. In the basement of his practice (that serves as a branch of the pathologic department of the Providence hospital) explained classical traces of external forceful impact at recently deceased persons. The cause for the lecture was the tragic death of young pregnant shop assistant Cecilia Pickman which was declared an accident until Dr. Elton found evidence of foul play weeks later. A photo shows Chief of police Mr. Jervas Hyde and three of his men attentively watching Dr. Elton cutting into a hematoma on a dead human body.


>g
You browse the newspaper and spot an article that awakens your interest:

ANOTHER MURDER?
Police confirmed yesterday that missing Carola Parris, 22, is dead. Her body was found on Wednesday in the woods near Copper's Mill. The body of the popular bank clerk is said to have been battered by animals, but according to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, the cause of death was a cut to the throat. Yesterday, a small crowd gathered in front of the Backwater Police station, demanding vociferously an end to the series of killings of young women that started with the death of Cecilia "Ceecee" Pickman almost a year ago. Deputy Chief of police promised a "wholehearted" investigation.

The words "almost a year ago" have been underlined so heavily that they're nearly crossed out. "10 months 24 days" is scrawled in the margin with fading ink.


>set knob to 1
The knob can't be set to that.

>turn knob to 1
The knob can't be set to that.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>drop all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
dull machete: Dropped.
old newspaper: Dropped.
bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Dropped.
metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
moldy, waterlogged journal: Dropped.
small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Dropped.
brass winding key: Dropped.
familiar gold wristwatch: Dropped.
suitcase: Dropped.
plastic bubble: Dropped.
golden eyepiece: Dropped.
glass jar containing an insect: Dropped.
giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
label: Dropped.
pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Dropped.
postcard of Big Ben: Dropped.
diary of Phyllis Cragne: Dropped.
repaired page: Dropped.
wad of cash: Dropped.
cast iron spire: Dropped.
antique locket: Dropped.
Jansport backpack: Dropped.
trolley schedule: Dropped.
backpack features guide: Dropped.
Peter's jacket: Dropped.
library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
grimy rock: Dropped.
long hooked pole: Dropped.
soggy tome: Dropped.
book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
yellowed newspapers: Dropped.
rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
clipboard: Dropped.
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
aluminum key: Dropped.
black business card: Dropped.
glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
trophy for a dog race: Dropped.
a rusty flathead screwdriver: Dropped.
bronze key green from age: Dropped.
pair of garden shears: Dropped.
a gallon jug of white vinegar: Dropped.
mildewed leather gloves: Dropped.
key from an urn: Dropped.
bronze urn: Dropped.
silver urn: Dropped.
copper urn: Dropped.
rotten flowers: Dropped.
pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Dropped.
torn notebook: Dropped.
thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
piece of yellowed newsprint: Dropped.
enormous dessicated rat corpse: Dropped.
broken knife handle: Dropped.
brass nameplate: Dropped.
waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
mallet (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped.
half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Dropped.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>set knob to 1
You turn the knob to 1.

>set knob to 0
You turn the knob to 0.

>set knob to 2
You turn the knob to 2.

>set knob to 4
You turn the knob to 4.

>open padlock
It isn't something you can open.

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

>* well, it's from July 31, 1920
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>so minus 10 months, 24 days would be september 7 1919
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>set dial to 9
You can't see any such thing.

>set knob to 9
You turn the knob to 9.

>set knob to 7
You turn the knob to 7.

>set knob to 1
You turn the knob to 1.

>set knob to 9
You turn the knob to 9.
With a last, satisfying *klick* the padlock springs open. You remove it and heedlessly throw it into a corner. Now will you open the crate to see what's inside? Of course you will!

>* aha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>open small crate
You open the small crate, revealing an old paperback book.

>x paperback
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

>* so Anchorhead was turn of the 20th century sci-fi projection of the future?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a tiny leather journal
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a hovering spark (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)

>* not sure what the mildew rules are, but kinda funny that the spark got tagged!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x spark
Something like a spark of chalk hovers in the air behind you.  As you watch, it fades, only to reappear to your right in a wash of cold.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>smell it
You smell nothing unexpected.

>smell me
You smell decidedly funky.

>smell
You smell nothing unexpected.

>x me
Black "Napalm Death" tshirt, a long, summerly batik skirt and a prim ponytail - top notch!

>l
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>take paperback
Taken.

>read it
Someone has hollowed out the pages of this book to make a hiding place for something. Whatever it was, it's long gone now.

With another snap, the air seems to shift, and the faint outline of a well-dressed man coalesces around the spark.

As you finish reading the passage, you realize that the well-dressed man has been reading over your shoulder.  He nods thoughtfully, placing his hand on the cover, leaving frost behind on the library insignia.

>* that was unexpected!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x man
The outline of an African-American man in a suit and tie fades in and out of view around a hovering spark.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* Oh, interesting
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I wonder if he's got some connection to the racist drinking fountain?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>x book
(the old paperback book)
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

>read it
Someone has hollowed out the pages of this book to make a hiding place for something. Whatever it was, it's long gone now.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

You can see a half-full styrofoam coffee cup, a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew), a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate, a broken knife handle, an enormous dessicated rat corpse, a piece of yellowed newsprint, a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew), a torn notebook, The Lives of the Roman Emperors, a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (empty), some rotten flowers, a copper urn (empty), a silver urn (empty), a bronze urn (empty), a key from an urn, some mildewed leather gloves, a gallon jug of white vinegar, a pair of garden shears, a bronze key green from age, a rusty flathead screwdriver, a trophy for a dog race, a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew), a black business card, an aluminum key, loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew), a clipboard, a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew), some yellowed newspapers, a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew), an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew), a book list (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome, a long hooked pole, a grimy rock, a library card (smelling faintly of mildew), Peter's jacket, a backpack features guide, a trolley schedule, a Jansport backpack (in which are a hidden pocket (empty), a key pocket (empty), a book pocket (empty), a side pocket (empty) and a trash pocket (empty)), an antique locket (closed), a cast iron spire, a wad of cash, a repaired page, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, a postcard of Big Ben, The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew), a label, a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew), a glass jar containing an insect, a golden eyepiece, a plastic bubble (empty), a suitcase, a familiar gold wristwatch, a brass winding key, a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front), a moldy, waterlogged journal, a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew), a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, an old newspaper, a dull machete and a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) here.

>take all
pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

mallet (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

brass nameplate: Taken.

broken knife handle: Taken.

enormous dessicated rat corpse: Taken.

piece of yellowed newsprint: Taken.

thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

torn notebook: Taken.

The Lives of the Roman Emperors: Taken.

pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew): You scoop the box out of its crumbling niche. A whiff of stale air hits you, and you recoil. Yet the box remains safely cradled to your chest. Something inside it thumps, as if to the rhythm of your heartbeat. 

 You can see no further into the grave.
rotten flowers: Taken.

copper urn: Taken.

silver urn: Taken.

bronze urn: Taken.

key from an urn: Taken.

mildewed leather gloves: Taken.

a gallon jug of white vinegar: Taken.

pair of garden shears: Taken.

bronze key green from age: Taken.

a rusty flathead screwdriver: Taken.

trophy for a dog race: Taken.

glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

black business card: Taken.

aluminum key: Taken.

loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

clipboard: Taken.

rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

yellowed newspapers: Taken.

shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

book list (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

soggy tome: Taken.

long hooked pole: Taken.

grimy rock: Taken.

library card (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

Peter's jacket: Taken.

backpack features guide: Taken.

trolley schedule: Taken.

Jansport backpack: Taken.

antique locket: Taken.

cast iron spire: Taken.

wad of cash: Taken.

repaired page: Taken.

diary of Phyllis Cragne: Taken.

postcard of Big Ben: Taken.

The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three: Taken.

pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

label: Taken.

giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

glass jar containing an insect: Taken.

golden eyepiece: Taken.

plastic bubble: Taken.

suitcase: Taken.

familiar gold wristwatch: Taken.

brass winding key: Taken.

small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front): Taken.

moldy, waterlogged journal: Taken.

metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken.

bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken.

old newspaper: Taken.

half-full styrofoam coffee cup: Taken.

dull machete: Taken.

>  x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>  x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a child's wagon. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>  x coffee
The clouds in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

>ne

Small Chamber (Grueslayer)
It takes a while to adjust to the darkness here, but finally you can at least make out some shapes and colours. The little light that falls in through the opening the "altar" left reveals a small space of about ten by six feet, no more than five feet high, meaning you can't even stand. The walls are roughly hewn and show no sign of renovation. Three freight crates and an empty bottle indicate that this secret space had probably been used by smugglers. How mundane. The exit is southwest.

You can see a phonograph here.

>  x coffee
The swirls in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

>sw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>se

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Psst! Hey you! C'mere! Yoohooo?"

>  x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

"Hey, you! Over here! You're not deaf, are you?"

>u
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>* oh wait, forgot the X MEs
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>d

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Psst! Hey you! I'm waiting! Can you hear me?"

>x me
Seized by a morbid curiosity, you aim your light down at the water so you can get a good look at your face. What you see is not encouraging. Put simply, being attacked by goddamn bugs has significantly degraded your look. If you had known you would go traipsing around in flooded underground caverns, you would not have opted to go with stockings. Your hair is tangled and grungy, your makeup is probably running and you'd really just like a nice hot shower if that isn't too much to ask. 

 Out of the corner of your eye, you see the woman in the wall pull what looks like a mirror from her pocket and examine herself. She also does not appear to like what she sees.

"Hey, you! This way! Yoohooo?"

>ne
You can't go that way.

"Hey, you! C'mere!  Hellooooo?"

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x me
Black "Napalm Death" tshirt, a long, summerly batik skirt and a prim ponytail - top notch!

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>x me
You're pretty certain that you're the only black woman in Backwater, Vt.  Possibly the only one ever.  The horrors of the day have taken a heavy toll on the Pam Grier vibe you have been cultivating of late.  And the hair care product assortment at the pharmacy is discouraging.

>* finally acknowledgment that we're from Africa!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>x e
You see nothing unexpected in that direction.

>x me
You imagine that you have that wide-eyed look that Peter always says you get when you are worried, but there isn't a mirror nearby to confirm. Probably for the best - you drove through most of the night to get to Backwater and haven't slept.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
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. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>* ah yes, we drove here
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>se

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! I'm waiting! Can you hear?"

>u
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>save
Ok.

>* Let's check whether this key gets us into the manor
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x pass
A small blue piece of laminated cardboard that says "BACKWATER TROLLEY MONTHLY PASS" in tidy serif font, with a yellow rope lanyard for you to hang it around your neck. You pray to any gods listening that you and Peter will be on a faraway beach together by the time the pass expires.

>x schedule
It's unlike any public transit schedule you've ever seen, in that there are no times listed. A cheerfully phrased block of introduction text instructs riders to hang their passes around their necks, proceed to a trolley stop, and WAIT FOR whatever color LINE corresponds with their choice of destination.

Destinations:
Brown Line -- Train Station
Gold Line -- Church
Blue Line -- Library Square
Aqua Line -- River Walk
Orange Line -- Constabulary Road
Green Line -- The Woods
Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant
Purple Line -- Cragne Manor


>u
You can't go that way.

>nw
You can't go that way.

>se
You can't go that way.

>s

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins. 

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.

>nw

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>n

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>nw

Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
A clearing, outside a wooden shack. A clockwork doll sits here, utterly incongruous at the edge of the woods.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.

>se

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>wait for purple line
You lean against the library steps, hold out your pass, and wait for the purple line. Within moments, a spectral trolley arrives. Instead of stopping and allowing you to board, it passes through you, and you find yourself transported to

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>open door
You can't see any such thing.

>save
Ok.

>n
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes--though you're not eager to change into any strange shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door.

Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot.

>open door
It seems to be locked.

>unlock door
What do you want to unlock the front door with?

>brass
Which do you mean, the brass winding key, the brass nameplate or the large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>large
You can't see any such thing.

>unlock door with large brass key
You unlock the front door.

>* yup!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  a dull machete
  a half-full styrofoam coffee cup
  an old newspaper
  a bottle of Pepto-Bismol
  a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a moldy, waterlogged journal
  a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)
  a brass winding key
  a familiar gold wristwatch
  a suitcase (open but empty)
  a plastic bubble (open but empty)
  a golden eyepiece
  a glass jar containing an insect
  a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three
  a postcard of Big Ben
  the diary of Phyllis Cragne
  a repaired page
  a wad of cash
  a cast iron spire
  an antique locket (closed)
  a Jansport backpack (open)
    a hidden pocket (open but empty)
    a key pocket (open but empty)
    a book pocket (open but empty)
    a side pocket (open but empty)
    a trash pocket (open but empty)
  a trolley schedule
  a backpack features guide
  Peter's jacket
  a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a grimy rock
  a long hooked pole
  a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
  some yellowed newspapers
  a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a clipboard
  loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an aluminum key
  a black business card
  a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a trophy for a dog race
  a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a bronze key green from age
  a pair of garden shears
  a gallon jug of white vinegar
  some mildewed leather gloves
  a key from an urn
  a bronze urn (open but empty)
  a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
  a copper urn (open but empty)
  some rotten flowers
  a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
  The Lives of the Roman Emperors
  a torn notebook
  a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a piece of yellowed newsprint
  an enormous dessicated rat corpse
  a broken knife handle
  a brass nameplate
  a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an old paperback book
  the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
  an ornate metallic box (open but empty)
  a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a gold jacket (being worn)
  a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a trolley pass (being worn)
  Ed's coveralls (being worn)
You are also wearing a pair of extremely muddy clogs.

>* (hmm, the clogs are new, will need to investigate!)
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>save
Ok.

>