not knowing when the dawn will come, i open every door

It's bright outside by the time you wake up. There's a soft sound coming from your nightstand. [[Roll over and check the sound.]]

It's your [[cell phone]]. The alarm is going off, but it's so quiet it's almost pointless. [[Check the time.]]

You didn't want one, but your mother insisted. It's good to have in case of an "emergency", she said. You knew what she meant and she knew you knew, but neither of you pressed the issue any further. [[back.|Roll over and check the sound.]]

It's 10:07 AM. You had set the alarm for 9:30. If the alarm didn't wake you, what did? You yawn, shut off the alarm, and check your cell phone for any messages. Unsurprisingly, you didn't miss any calls. Not many people call you these days, unless it's about [[Nathaniel]]. You glance over. [[Marley]] is still in her bed, but she opens her eyes to watch you as you rustle the sheets. Her tail begins to wag. [[Get out of bed.]]

Nathaniel was your best friend for a long time. His family owned the property next to yours, and the area surrounding and in between was covered in vast forest. It had been every little boy's dream. You'd become friends when you'd decided to try to work on a map of the wilderness and build a secret fort, which you were confident you could do because you'd spent the previous winter staring at your older brother's books about architecture and building strange structures from playing cards as the Canadian winter blew around the house. Nathaniel was about five years older than you, and he seemed amused at your confidence and bravado. He agreed on the condition he could oversee your efforts. He was a little bossy, but you didn't really mind. You figured it was just part of coming from a rich family. You'd read about that kind of thing in fiction books. Even as you'd gotten older, things hadn't really changed. No matter what the project was, you attacked it with vigor and Nathaniel had your back, always ready with a spark of brilliant insight when ideas were low, or a much-deserved sharp tongue when it seemed like your energy and morale were depleted. He'd always known the words to say to get you back on your feet. Actually, you think the first time you ever saw him struck silent was when you first told him the news. That had been a long time ago, now. [[back.|Check the time.]]

You pull off the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed and onto the cool wooden floor. You still feel exhausted. Marley gets up as well, stretching, and watches you expectantly. [[Take a shower.]] [[Make breakfast.]]

Sweating in the night had made your skin feel clammy and gross in the morning chill. You definitely need a shower. You don't hurry bathing - it isn't like you have anywhere to be, really. Taking your time in the warm water is nice, for as long as you feel like standing. Your mind wanders a little as you lather soap and scrub down. You'd had a strange [[dream]] last night, and you try to psychoanalyze it for no real reason. You're not sure you believe that stuff, but it's fun to think about. [[Get out and get dressed.]]

You're not feeling a shower this morning. Maybe later. You make it to the kitchen (nearly tripping as you begin walking, because your sense of balance is terrible) and open the ice box. There's not much there. You decide on a cheese omelette and put on some coffee to brew while you cook. Marley is standing by her food bowl, and you make sure to fill it up for her breakfast. The kitchen is modern and sparse. You don't have a lot of possesions, and what you do have is utilitarian in some way, but that doesn't mean it isn't stylish in its own way. You spend a lot of time thinking about style, design, and use. Not as much as you used to, when it was a [[career]] instead of just a hobby. Just as you go to turn the radio on, your cell phone rings. [[Answer the phone.]]

The architecture bug didn't ever leave, and interior design came chasing after it. You designed an entire hotel in Chicago once, for a client with an awful lot of money who spared no expense. Shortly after that, a Chinese man approached you to design a nightclub for him - and halfway through the job, your previous client made it pretty clear you needed to get out of town before you were "in over your pretty little head". Heights had always made you nervous - serious conversations with well-dressed men on the observation deck of the Sears Tower had been enough to send you back to Canada. [[back.|Make breakfast.]]

You fumble your way back to the bedroom, where your phone is buried in your bed covers. Unfortunately, just as you go to answer the call, the ringing stops. You don't recognize the number at all, but about a minute later, there's a message on your phone. [[Check the message.]]

You were in a house you knew very well, although you didn't know why. It was warm, like summer, but too warm. You felt hot and anxious and the way the light moved through the house didn't make sense. Furniture was in places it shouldn't quite be, but this realization was hard to come to at first - for a long time, it was a general feeling of malaise. You had walked through the house alone, hearing a distant sound you thought you recognized, but it didn't seem to get quieter or louder no matter where you went. Beyond the house was an impenetrable wilderness that seemed dark and unreachable. The thought to leave the house never crossed your mind. You wandered through like you were looking for something, but felt unable to lift your arms to open drawers or pull back sheets, and your lips stayed pressed tight even though a name seemed to fill your mouth and puff your cheeks the longer it stayed cramped inside, as if the letters pressed against your teeth. [[back.|Take a shower.]]

You dry off thoroughly and hang the towel on the edge of the bathroom door. Your old clothes are thrown into the hamper, and you cross the bedroom floor towards your dresser to find something new. You don't feel great today (muscle cramps, an unhappy stomach, joint pain you're doing your best to ignore) and you decide something comfortable and casual will be fine. You don't have a lot of plans except to make it to the grocery store at some point today. Once dressed, you go to tuck your bedsheets back into place and remember your phone by your pillow. You must have missed a call while you were in the shower - the display shows there's a message left for you, from a number you don't recognize. [[Check the message.]]

"Mister Olivier? This is Jay Jackson from the Toronto Times. I know this message is unexpected. I got your number through some... very tough digging. I hope you don't mind. I don't want to bother you. I'll be brief." The voice is an unfamiliar woman. You listen intently, although she isn't hard to hear. Your experience with reporters in the past has not been pleasant. "I thought you'd like to know before you see it in a newspaper. There's an... event being made in your old hometown. The Merritt home was restored and there will be...tours offered during the next month. They're calling it a haunted attraction." You feel very far away. "I'm sure this must be very surprising to you. I'd be willing to go over the details and give you more on what I've found out if you'd like to call back. My personal line is--" You don't listen to the rest of the message. [[Plan a trip.]]

You haven't been back to your hometown in a long time. Your [[family]] still owns the [[house]] there, but after what happened, nobody has lived there in a while. You bought your parents a place in Ottawa and moved to the United States, just across the border where the grass seemed a little greener. It takes a few calls, but you have a train ticket for next week. It will take you to a station near your hometown. A bus will take you the rest of the way. You assume Marley can come with you. The next days pass slowly. {(if: $prepared is 1)[ [[Return the reporter's call.]]] (else-if: $prepared is 2)[ [[Pack.]]] (else-if: $prepared is 3)[ [[Check the newspaper for anything.]]] (else:)[ [[Sleep.]]]}

Your mother: Nathalie Aurélie Olivier, 56. Your father: Armand Rémi Olivier, 58. Your older sister: Claudine Sacha Olivier, 29. Your older brother: Justin Patrice Olivier, 36. [[back.|Plan a trip.]]

A two-storey home with three bedrooms. Your family had kept a garden behind the house, down a worn path where there was a small clearing in the thick trees. the winters there had been brutual but that had never kept you cooped up for too long. [[back.|Plan a trip.]]

(set: $prepared to it + 1)Against your better judgment, you call the reporter back. She sounds hurried when she answers the phone, but when you say your name, her tone changes. You know this tone. Like someone who just got told that there's exactly what they want under the Christmas tree if they can just rip the right box open. "Mr. Olivier," she purrs, lowering her tone. You barely hold back a sigh. "I'm so glad you called me back. I've never heard of you giving a quote before. What would it take to get your side of the story?" You tell her you're only interested in what she called you about earlier, but it's clear she's going to be tight-lipped until you give her some kind of sensational quote. Being a famous person's "childhood best friend" is sometimes terrible. You end up hanging up without any more useful information that you started with, and spend the rest of the day with a terrible headache. [[back.|Plan a trip.]]

(set: $prepared to it + 1)You have no idea how long you'll be gone, so you pack a few things and hope the washing machine in the old house still works. You take a good amount of Marley's food, too. Is there anything else you should take? [[Take the old map you made with Nathaniel.]] [[Take your lighter.]] [[back.|Plan a trip.]]

(set: $prepared to it + 1)You take Marley for a walk and pass a newspaper vending machine, which you pop two quarters into. When you get home, your body aching, you slip onto the couch and unfold each page carefully, hopeful to find some news. There's nothing in the newspaper about the attraction, or about the upcoming anniversary. It's for the best, so you're not sure why you feel so disappointed. [[back.|Plan a trip.]]

Your dog. She helps you a lot - getting around, alerting you to an impending seizure, reminding you to take your medicine. Much more helpful than a phone. She's a beagle, and she has the softest ears you've ever felt. Sometimes when your fingers start going numb or there's pins-and-needles or the slightest touch just hurts, stroking her ears is the only thing that brings any kind of comfort. You don't know why. [[back.|Check the time.]]

It's finally the night before the trip. You have a taxi scheduled to meet you in the morning to take you to the station. It's only 9:00, but you head to bed anyway, and Marley pads into the bedroom after you. You take something to help with the insomnia. Marley watches you swallow the pill with a cocked head and perked ears. When you sleep, it is dreamless. [[Arrive.]]

The next thing you are really aware of is stepping off the bus right outside of your childhood home. For some reason, this does not immediately alarm you. Marley steps off the bus after you, and you can feel the weight of your bag in one hand and the smooth texture of her leash in the other. You focus on this and breathe. You can't see the house from here. The driveway is fairly long, and the house is surrounded by thick forest that makes it hard to see from the road. You begin walking, and Marley settles into a trot beside you. [[Reach the front door.]]

(set: $oldmap to true)It's silly now, looking at this thing - part of it are drawn in crayon, that's how young you were. You can tell Nathaniel's tight, neat handwriting from yours instantly. It could be interesting to see how accurate it is now, with a fresh set of eyes. [[back.|Pack.]]

(set: $lighter to true)A zippo you've had for a while, although you can't remember how you got it. You don't smoke - your doctor would have your head for that. Still, it has its uses. [[back.|Pack.]]

The door is locked. You feel incredibly foolish as soon as you try the handle. What were you thinking? How did this not occur to you sooner? Marley looks at you expectantly. You can't go back home. There's still things to do here. What will you do now? (if: $trial is false)[ [[Search for the key.]] ] [[Try to call your parents.]] [[Look for another way in.]]

(set: $trial to true)There's got to be a key here somewhere for situations like this, right? There's no shortage of places where one could be hiding, that's for sure. Where should you check? [[Under a large rock by the door.]] [[Under a flower pot.]] [[Under the mat.]] [[Forget it.|Reach the front door.]]

You punch in your father's phone number, but soon discover that there's no signal out in the woods. You'd need a landline to reach anyone out here... ...which was, of course, in the house. Back to square one. [[back.|Reach the front door.]]

There's a backdoor that leads into the kitchen - it has a small four-pane window on it with light, gauzy curtains. You crunch through the leaves towards the back of the house until you arrive at that door. Unfortunately, it's locked as well. It's getting chilly, and you don't really want to sit outside for long. It would be easy to smash one of the panes of glass on the window and unlock the door from the outside - there are plenty of rocks handy - or you could keep looking. [[Break the window.]] [[Find a window.]]

You pick up a rock and hesitate for only a moment before hefting it through the lower left window pane on the door. There's a crash and the glass there shatters. Carefully, you reach in past the shards and fumble for the door lock, letting yourself in. With a sigh of relief, you swing the door open and pause for a moment, glancing back at Marley. You need to find a broom to clean this up before she walks over and cuts her paws. You tell her to stay and step further into the kitchen. [[Look in the cupboard.]]

You're already pretty sure all the first floor windows will be locked, but you try them anyway. The first floor is just your parents' room, the kitchen, laundry room, and your dad's office, and your mother had always been paranoid about keeping the windows locked. You and your siblings had been a little more lax. Of course, that means getting up on the second floor somehow. The laundry room has a much lower roof, as it was built onto the house later as an addition and doesn't go up to the second floor inside. Even though your joints hate you today (as usual), you're pretty sure you can get up there. [[Scale up to the laundry room roof.]]

You lift a large rock by the front door. Nothing but a gross number of bugs. Uhg. Disgusted, you quickly give up looking for a key. You'll have to try something. else. [[back.|Reach the front door.]]

The classic hiding place - but there's nothing there. You drop the mat back in place, sigh, and give up looking for a key. You'll have to try something. else. [[back.|Reach the front door.]]

(set: $housekey to true)You lift up the flower pot, and-- bingo! There's the key! You breathe out a sigh of relief and grab it. That could have been a lot more complicated. [[Let yourself in.]]

You remember leaving the house pretty quickly when you were younger, but you don't remember much more beyond that. It had been a scary and confusing time... The house hadn't been touched in three years. The cupboard was pretty empty. This is probably for the best, because coming back to rotten food sounded unpleasant. Unfortunately, there's no broom here. Where else could it be? There was a hall closet where some cleaning things were kept, wasn't there? In the entryway? [[Check the hall closet.]]

Marley watches you from the grass with some concern as you jump to grab the edge of the roof and begin to try to pull yourself up. This is harder than you expected. You kick against the house a few times before your feet find actual purchase there, and after long minutes and some unhappy grunts and a few seconds you're worried you're going to fall on your dog, you manage to swing one leg over the roof and pull yourself the rest of the way up. The roof is slick with frost, and you very slowly get to your feet. [[Carefully cross to the window.]]

You unlock the door and head inside. Nobody has been in this house for three years. It's dusty, and it has the feeling of an abandoned building, or stepping back through time. You stand there for a moment feeling lightheaded, and Marley pads in behind you, looking around curiously and sniffing the air, then sneezing. There's definitely a few places you'd be curious to look around, for old time's sake, but for now, you just want to worry about putting down your bag, trying to dust where you'll be sleeping, and maybe wiping down the bathroom. Memory Lane can wait. [[Head upstairs to your old room.]]

Between old coats that were left behind is the old broom and dustpan. [[Go back to sweep up the glass.]]

You step back into the kitchen, focused on the glass on the kitchen floor. Sweeping it up quickly, you find the trashcan still under the kitchen sink and dump the glass in there. You call for Marley, but she does not come. When you step outside, your bag is there, but Marley is nowhere to be found. [[Look for Marley.]]

You'd shared a room with Justin, even though he was 14 years your senior. You feel a little bad, because trying to do schoolwork with a kid running around screaming and having toys everywhere must have been a nightmare. You were 19 by the time the family moved out of this house three years ago, and Justin was already married and living in Toronto by then, so most of his stuff was already gone. His dismantled bedframe and mattress were leaning up against a far wall, but for the most part, the room was entirely yours. It seems like there is less dust up here, for some reason. You drop your bag in the doorway and Marley strides in past you, sniffing around the room. It's a little warmer up on the second floor, and you move to pull your coat off, but there's a strange crinkling sound in your pocket that stops you for a moment. [[Reach into your pocket.]]

(set: $sprain to true)The window in front of you leads to your sister's room - the room you'd shared with Justin had faced out north, away from the Merritt's property, but Claudine's windows had faced east. You walk carefully as you can over the ice, but your balance isn't great at the best of times, and your foot comes down with a little too much pressure at the wrong angle and your weight shifts dramatically. The frost is thicker here, and you fall like there's an undercurrent pulling you down. You reach for the window ledge, seizing it in your hands to keep from being sent down the slope of the roof and onto the rocky ground below, just barely in time. Your body is pulled painfully in two different directions and the sharp twist of your ankle followed by the jolting pain in your fingers and wrists sends you screaming. If anyone heard you, you think without a hint of amusement, the scream probably only served to add to the eerie reputation these woods already have. Marley barks, clearly concerned. You take a moment, holding onto the ledge, and breathe. After a few seconds pass, you get purchase again on your good foot and pull yourself up closer to the window. Luckily, it's unlocked. You scramble in, careful not to land on your throbbing ankle. [[Let Marley in.]]

(set: $marley to false)You look for Marley outside in a panic until it's dark and you can barely find your way back to the house. Finally, after hours, you give up. You place a bowl of water and a sweater you'd been wearing outside by the back door. Marley is a well-trained service dog. How could she ignore your call? And how could she have gotten away so quickly? [[Reluctantly go back inside.]]

There's a few things in your pocket - a gum wrapper, your train ticket stub, and a toonie - but what most catches your eye is a glossy colored square, folded and a little wrinkled. You carefully unfold it, more than a little confused as to how it got there. You're sure this is the first time you've seen it. Then again, you don't really remember how you got to the bus this morning, either. Could you have picked this up in the train station? Or the bus stop? It's a flyer. You recognize the house featured on the front and you feel your chest constrict. <center>EXPERIENCE THE MERRITT HORROR!!! Three years ago, Nate Merritt savagely murdered his entire family and set their historic mansion on fire. Nate tried to escape, but was caught in the blaze when a tank of oxygen combusted. The fire had been set to cover up this horrific crime, but the investigation revealed the truth of Nate's evil deeds... Come explore the home where an entire family lost their lives at the hands of a seemingly normal and charming "boy next door"! We've restored the home to its former glory - but the spirits of Nate Merritt's victims remain!</center> You stare at the flyer for a long time. Finally, you crumple it in your fist. [[You know that isn't how it happened.]]

{ (set: $prepared to 1) (set: $oldmap to false) (set: $lighter to false) (set: $housekey to false) (set: $marley to true) (set: $sprain to false) (set: $fight to false) (set: $trial to false) }

Nobody has been in this house for three years. It's dusty, and it has the feeling of an abandoned building, or stepping back through time. You sit there for a moment feeling lightheaded, before getting to your feet. Your right ankle screams whenever you try to put any weight on it, so you refrain. Claudine's room isn't too interesting, but there's definitely a few places you'd be curious to look around, for old time's sake. For now, though, you just want to worry about putting down your bag, trying to dust where you'll be sleeping, and maybe wiping down the bathroom. Memory Lane can wait. First thing's first - you need to get Marley and get your bag. You head down to the back door in the kitchen and open the door. Your bag is still there. Marley trods in happily, her tail wagging. [[Head upstairs to your old room.]]

The entire thing is ridiculous. There was virtually no evidence that would support this theory. It could have been Nathaniel's father. It could have been an intruder! The Merritts had enemies. Nobody ever even called him "Nate". You sigh, slowly sitting on your bed. It doesn't even matter - Nathaniel is dead now. They all are. [[Maybe you should finally go next door.]]

You try to convince yourself that Marley is a smart dog, and she'll come back. She has a good nose, and you'd never seen anything too dangerous in these woods. She'll be fine. She has to be fine. Nobody has been in this house for three years. It's dusty, and it has the feeling of an abandoned building, or stepping back through time. You stand there for a moment feeling lightheaded, caught between this strange feeling of uneasy nostalgia and your panicked anxiety about Marley. There's definitely a few places you'd be curious to look around, for old time's sake, but for now, you just want to worry about putting down your bag, trying to dust where you'll be sleeping, and maybe wiping down the bathroom. [[Head to your old room.]]

You'd shared a room with Justin, even though he was 14 years your senior. You feel a little bad, because trying to do schoolwork with a kid running around screaming and having toys everywhere must have been a nightmare. You were 19 by the time the family moved out of this house three years ago, and Justin was already married and living in Toronto by then, so most of his stuff was already gone. His dismantled bedframe and mattress were leaning up against a far wall, but for the most part, the room was entirely yours. It seems like there is less dust up here, for some reason. You drop your bag in the doorway and step into the room. It's a little warmer up on the second floor, and you move to pull your coat off, but there's a strange crinkling sound in your pocket that stops you for a moment. [[Reach into your pocket.]]

It isn't as if there's anything else to do here - and putting it off will only make you more anxious. $marley[You call for Marley, and she looks up from where she'd been resting and gets up, stretches, and walks over. ]Carefully, you smooth the flyer back out over your knee from where you'd crumpled it, and then fold it back the way it was before putting it in your jacket pocket again. It's unlikely, but it could come in handy to have. You $marley[and Marley ]step down the stairs and out the door. The Merritt house is a walk down the driveway and a short way down the road. You walked that path many times when you were younger. The last time you walked it was more of a run, really, with Claudine at your heels. You'd both heard the explosion and seen the smoke over the tree line, and it was too close to be a controlled burn. Claudine had only seen what was happening for a moment before turning and running back home for the phone to call the emergency line. You'd rushed towards the house, screaming Nathaniel's name. Of course, it was too late. He was dead along with everyone else. [[Arrive at the Merritt Horror Experience.]]

The Merritt House is much different than it was before. There's a queue outside, and what you assume to be employees dressed in fireman uniforms milling around alternating between being "in character" and making sure people stay in line. You admit, you didn't expect all this. People are going into the house through the wide double front doors in groups. You want to see this... "experience" before giving the people in charge a piece of your mind. Technically, this [[property]] belongs to you now, so isn't this entire operation incredibly illegal? You're sure you wouldn't have agreed to this. [[Wait in the queue.]]

It was surprising when, months after Nathaniel's death, a lawyer showed up on your door to execute his will. "You were hard to find," he had gruffed. "I nearly had the entire estate donated so I could wash my hands of the whole affair." You were hard to find on purpose, of course. When the media had begun sensationalising the case, they'd jumped on your family, and it hadn't been fun. There was apparently some question as to whether Nathaniel's will could even be respected when he could be a murderer, but the authorities were unable to determine whether the fire was set purposefully or accidentally, and who had fired the shots that had killed Mr. and Mrs. Merritt. It was possible that it had been a murder-suicide, or that there had been an intruder - simply too much evidence had been destroyed by the fire and resulting explosion to tell. You felt sick thinking about it. What a terrible way to die. What had happened in that house on that last night? You'd agonised about it for a long time, but ultimately, you'd tried to tell yourself that you would never know, and you would have to be okay with that. Being here now is making that a little difficult. Still, it's hard not to realize that legally, this house does belong to you, and any restoration that was done or even any occupancy of the grounds at all is illegal without your consent. It had been Mr. Merritt's will that everything was left to Nathaniel, and Nathaniel had set up, with a lawyer and everything, a will that had explicitly named you the sole beneficiary of the estate. (text-style: "italic")["And in the event that RENARD MATTHIEU OLIVIER has passed on at the time of this will's execution, everything will instead be donated to a charity supporting treatment for his disease,"] Nathaniel had written. You had been tempted to do that, anyway. You had no idea what to do with a fortune this size. [[back.|Arrive at the Merritt Horror Experience.]]

(if: $marley is true)[A man dressed in a police uniform approaches you as you progress through the queue - you can tell he's not a real officer, even though there's no apparent signs - his clothes just seem more like a costume than a uniform. He's a couple inches taller than you and has dark skin, and a police cap covers his cropped hair. "No pets allowed," he says. You sigh and explain that she's a service dog. It's always so frustrating to have to go through this routine. Her vest is explanation enough, isn't it? The man looks down at Marley a little more closely and then looks embarrassed. "Sorry," he says, quickly. "My mistake. But, ah, if you have any kind of anxiety or--" You tell him you know what you're getting into (which is a lie). He nods, but he's frowning. It looks like he wants to say something else, but he can't quite decide how, or he's not sure if he should, or... something. Just as he opens his mouth, the line suddenly moves forward, and you and Marley move with it. He waves his hand, turns, and starts to interact with some other customers.](if: $marley is false)[You wait with your thoughts wandering, nervously circling around the case, the crime, Nathaniel, all of this in your head. The line moves forward and you move with it, taking note of the costumed employees around you. One is wearing a policeman costume and chatting up a group of girls ahead of you. Nobody is really paying you any mind.] You're close to the front doors now. You remember going through them so many times as a child. The glass must have been restored, because you vividly remember the many intricate panes blown out on the night of the murders. [[Come in.]]

Within minutes, you're $sprain[gingerly ]stepping up the porch stairs and walking through those doors again. A woman in a complex maid's uniform hands you something and you take it without really registering what it is for another few steps. You're standing in the wide foyer with a group of about seven to ten people (you don't bother counting). You look down and realize you were given a small round glass candle holder, with a deep depression that's already holding a white tea light candle. You know this foyer pretty well. You're pushed back towards a coat closet as people file into the house, and you grip its handle, slowly coming up with a plan. You'd really rather take a look around this place yourself. If you end up getting emotional, the last thing you want is to be around a group of strangers. When the front door closes, you quickly open the coat closet and step inside(if: $marley is true)[, pulling Marley in with you]. There's absolutely no light in the foyer when the front door is closed and the bright lights from outside are shut out, and no one notices your quick move. The coat closet is fairly large for what it is, at least. There's still coats inside - surely these belong to the employees, and not to the Merritts... right? [[Wait until the tour group moves on.]]

You hear talking as a tour guide introduces the house to the "honoured guests" and then begins to light each candle. He talks shortly about each member of the Merritt family, and you try to block it out. It sounds like whoever wrote this script did a lot of research by reading bad magazine articles mostly meant to entertain. After a few minutes of this, you hear the sound of shuffling footsteps, and it's silent. You let another moment pass, just to be sure, and then slowly go to turn the closet door knob and step out. The foyer is incredibly dark now. You once knew your way around this house easily, but not intimately, and it's been three years now and a lot of focused attempts to forget. You're not so certain you can successfully navigate in the dark, and even if you do, where would you go? You remember the dining room having a lot of windows - maybe you'll be able to see well enough in there. It's just off the foyer to the left. [[Head to the dining room.]]

You go to the dining room, easing the glass-paned French doors closed behind you. (if: $lighter is true)[You suddenly remember the lighter in your pocket and grab it, lighting your candle with only minimal difficulty. That definitely helps - you're glad you brought it. ]This room is pretty much how you remember it, and that both eases and unnerves you in different ways. You study the table, the chandelier, and the large antique hutch with interest you'd never really afforded those things before. All of this looks untouched, like nothing bad ever happened here. There's even plates and silverware set at the table, like someone is expecting-- The silverware begins to clatter violently all at once, and you nearly drop the candle in shock. (if: $marley is true)[Marley tenses, shoulders raised, and lowers her head, growling. ]This can't be real. You think there must be a motion sensor that knows you've entered the room, and there's a short time delay, and this is all a trick as a part of that stupid tour, to give the impression of a haunted house. It can't be-- A knife flies off the table, heading towards you. You shout, diving away. It crashes into the glass of the hutch and shatters it, embedding in the wooden backing. More silverware follows, and then a plate flies like a frisbee towards your head. (if: $marley is true)[Marley barks.] There's no way someone isn't going to hear all this racket, but what the hell is going on here?! [[Get to the kitchen, fast.]]

You practically dive across the dining room to get to the door to the kitchen - it's a butler door, the kind that swings on hinges both in and out - and throw yourself against it, expecting to land in the kitchen and rush towards the pantry... but when you hit the door, you crash into it, as if some sort of enormous force is holding it in place. You'd always read that the presence of ghosts made a place cold, but the dining room seems like it's getting hotter and hotter, and you push for only a moment against the kitchen door before realizing the impossibility of it and making a break for the French doors instead. More silverware crashes after you as you sprint towards the doors. $sprain[(You'll feel it in your ankle later - right now, your adrenaline is too high to feel any pain.)] You make it to the French doors and grasp the handles, jostling the doors. They're stuck, too. The foyer beyond is dark, but you can see some kind of form. You don't even care if someone catches you having snuck away from the rest of the group - you pound on the glass panes, crying out for help. The form draws closer and grabs the handle from their side, and you throw yourself repeatedly against the door as plates smash at your feet. Finally, the door comes open, and you fall forward, caught by the person on the other side with a shout of surprise. [[Are you okay?]]

The movement in the dining room stops immediately the moment the door is opened. $marley[Marley is quick to hop out after you, panting and shaking, her ears down and her head hanging. ]You jump to your feet fast, still on adrenaline, terrified of who you might have landed on. He pulls out a flashlight and you both manage to take a look at each other. It's the man you'd seen outside, the employee in the police uniform costume. You stare at each other for a moment before he turns his gaze on the dining room, its door still open. "What the hell was that?" he breathes. You tell him you were hoping it was a part of the attraction. The fact that he doesn't answer confirms that it wasn't. [[Introduce yourself.]]

"I saw you outside," he says. "You're not an employee. You shouldn't be wandering around on your own." True. You extend the hand not holding a candle and he takes it. Both of your hands are shaking. You tell him your name, and he looks surprised - you can just make out the widening of his eyes in the low light. "I know who you are," he says, suddenly. Of course he does. "I've just never seen your picture before." There's an awkward moment of silence before he gives you his name. "I'm Jeff Purcell," he says. "Look-- don't get the wrong idea about me. I mean, ah, this whole thing... it's probably pretty weird to you, huh?" [[I'm not sure weird is the right word.]] [[Not as weird as whatever just happened.]]

Enraging comes to mind. Ridiculous, maybe? He bites his bottom lip, nodding. "I can see why you'd-- I mean, I'm only here because, I wanted to see the inside of the house, for research! I'm a historian, uh, writing about-- well, about the area, not just the case." He looks sheepish. "This isn't going as well as I'd hoped." [[The story they're telling here isn't historically accurate.]] [[What's your opinion of what happened here?]]

Jeff gazes warily over your shoulder, towards the dining room. "Yeah..." He shakes his head, as if trying to shake a mental image out of his mind. "What the hell was--" and then, as if remembering your earlier question, "That's definitely not supposed to happen. There's some actors, and some jump scares, but-- man, no. That was fucked up." Yeah. It was. You both stand there for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Maybe we should get out of here," Jeff says, finally. You agree. You and Jeff both go towards the front doors, and Jeff reaches out to open one, but the knob only turns with a hollow clicking sound and the door refuses to open. At first you think you can force this door open, too, but when you throw yourself against it, it's clear there's no way it's going to give. You step back, your free hand reflexively going to your throbbing shoulder. $sprain[Now that you're feeling again, your ankle isn't too happy, either.] You offer the back door in the kitchen, leading out to the deck, but you aren't feeling too hopeful about it. "We could catch up to the rest of the group," Jeff suggests. His voice is shaking. "Strength in numbers?" [[That sounds like a good idea.]]

Jeff frowns some, but nods a little. "There's nuggets of truth in everything I've seen," he says, shrugging. "But it's hard to know what the truth is, even for people who were there." You bristle a little. He's talking about you. [[What makes you think you know the truth?]] [[What's your opinion of what happened here?]]

Jeff looks pleasantly surprised when you ask - as if getting the opportunity to explain his theory is incredibly pleasing to him. You doubt a lot of people ask a college-aged guy about his historical theories on a tiny town in Quebec, even if there was a famous murder case there. "It's hard to say," he muses for a moment, and you almost sigh in frustration. Luckily, it's too dark for him to really catch the exasperated expression on your face. "But there weren't any bullets found in what was recovered of Nathaniel Merrit's body. The idea of an intruder who didn't know the family coming out here and picking a random target is almost laughable, statistically speaking it just doesn't happen. Still... I prefer to keep an open mind. It's hard to really seriously study something when your mind has already been made up." Maybe that's true... but you still can't suspect Nathaniel would ever have done anything like that. He'd never had trouble with his parents, he'd never even mentioned disliking them in all the years you'd known him. You both stand there for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Maybe we should get out of here," Jeff says, finally. You agree. You and Jeff both go towards the front doors, and Jeff reaches out to open one, but the knob only turns with a hollow clicking sound and the door refuses to open. At first you think you can force this door open, too, but when you throw yourself against it, it's clear there's no way it's going to give. You step back, your free hand reflexively going to your throbbing shoulder. $sprain[Now that you're feeling again, your ankle isn't too happy, either.] You offer the back door in the kitchen, leading out to the deck, but you aren't feeling too hopeful about it. "We could catch up to the rest of the group," Jeff suggests. His voice is shaking. "Strength in numbers?" [[That sounds like a good idea.]]

Jeff naturally leads the way, which is fine with you, because you have no idea which way the tour group went. He heads up the wide staircase and then stops, humming thoughtfully. "I'm... not actually sure which is the best way to go," he admits. You boggle at this for a moment. You ask, doesn't he work here? He tells you he does, of course, but his job is security and he doesn't follow the tours. Plus, sometimes the guides switch things up. You sign heavily. [[Ponder the decision.]]

(set: $fight to true)Your tone is combative, and Jeff frowns. "I've dedicated the last five years of my life to the history of this town," he says, clearly annoyed. "I've gone over every angle, every piece of evidence in this case. I'm only working here so I could get access to the house! Just because you were here, you think-- you know, witness testimony is statistically inaccurate--" You tell him in a sharp voice that he's talking about people you knew for thirteen years, and that trumps his five years of research. He doesn't like that at all. "You shouldn't be wandering around on your own," he says. "I should report you for trespassing." Trespassing! This is your house! You're ready to give Jeff a piece of your mind when he sighs and speaks again. "Let's just catch up to the tour group," he says. "Put you back where you're supposed to be." You don't really mind. You don't want to wander around with this guy alone much anyway, not with what just happened. [[That sounds like a good idea.]]

The staircase separates on a landing halfway up to the second floor - one side, on the right, leads to Mr. and Mrs. Merritt's wing. You hadn't ever often been on that side, but you knew it had a large bedroom, a guest room, a parlor (a room Mrs. Merrit had often called her "sewing room"), a bathroom, and a "private" library that was smaller than a larger room called the "library" downstairs. You had never really understood this, and when you'd once asked your mother about it, she told you some people had money to burn. (In the end, you suppose she'd been right about that a little too literally.) The left side leads to a space you're much more familiar with. Nathaniel had always called it "his wing". It had Nathaniel's room, study (long ago it had been a "playroom"), and bathroom, and another guest room that had been converted into a nursery following the [[announcement]] of Mrs. Merritt's surprise expectation. The fire had mostly damaged Mr. and Mrs. Merritt's bedroom and the rooms around it, and the explosion had taken out a portion of the floor below to the left of the entry way. Everything looks like it had been restored more or less the way it had been before. There's a large set of dark wood doors with intricately carved paneling and brass handles up the left side that leads to the previously destroyed part of the house. Nathaniel's wing has a more open feeling, without heavy doors. The staircase goes up, then a landing curves around down a hallway you can't see down after a few feet. Neither way has an obvious exit out of the house to try, from what you recall. Which way should you go? [[Go left, to Nathaniel's wing.]] [[Go right, to the restored wing.]]

The first you'd heard of it was from a lacy paper invitation delivered to the mailbox - it read that Mrs. Merritt was "expecting", and the entire family was so excited to welcome a baby into their home. There had been a big party at the mansion complete with "mocktails" and a live jazz band, but you'd spent most of the party holed up in Nathaniel's study with a plate of food playing a board game. There'd been quite a bit of snow coming down outside and Nathaniel hadn't mentioned the baby even once, as if the party downstairs was for something else entirely. [[back.|Ponder the decision.]]

If this "tour" is all about talking about how Nathaniel killed his family, they'd probably start with his room to ramp up the tension, you assume. Besides, you're more familiar with that area, so you can check it more efficiently. You realize a few paces down the hallway that Jeff isn't following you anymore, and you stop, turning to look behind you. He's halted, feet firmly in place, just inside the doorway between the hall and landing. You ask if he's coming and he shushes you, his head tilted as if he's listening for something. Finally, he shakes his head, but he looks a little spooked. "I'm hearing things," he said, laughing a little. "Sorry, sorry-- it's fine." You step through Nathaniel's wing quietly and carefully with $marley[Marley and ]Jeff behind you. This wing wasn't affected by the fire or the explosion so much, and most of it remains eerily preserved in time. You're still looking for the tour group, but considering you don't hear any voices, you're beginning to realize you aren't going to find them. The first door on your right leads to Nathaniel's study - a room you'd played in a lot as children. You'd often find Nathaniel in this room reading or studying as you - as he'd - gotten older. There'd been [[one day]] in particular... No time to get lost in reverie now. Still, something about this room bothers you... [[Enter.]]

You head towards the right, to the heavy wooden doors, because you're honestly not sure if you can handle going straight towards Nathaniel's room. You take one of the brass handles and turn it, pushing against the door. It opens only a few inches before stopping, thudding uselessly against something blocking the door from opening any further. You peer through the small space you can see. It looks like a mess of debris creating a wall. Jeff comes up behind you to investigate it as well, and you ask him if this is normal. "I was just in this part of the house earlier tonight," Jeff says, sounding a little far away. It seems like the confusion and stress is starting to get to him, and you can't blame him for that at all. You slowly ease the door back closed and turn away from it. The stress is beginning to get to you, too. [[Shout out.]]

You yell out into the quiet darkness of the house, asking if anybody is there. It's so unexpected that Jeff jerks backwards, jumping - but your question, while frustrated, did have a purpose. You listen carefully for any kind of response. Just as you're about to call out again, you stop yourself, because you hear it - quiet, lilting notes you've heard before. It's the sound of Nathaniel's violin. You instantly think someone else must be playing it, and you feel a hot anger surge through you and move you to charge forward towards the left landing, towards Nathaniel's wing, but Jeff seizes your arm to stop you and when you look back at his face that heat instantly plunges down to cold dread. (if: $fight is true)["Don't be stupid," Jeff says, shaking his head. "There's no way that's human... that, it... nobody working here would be doing this." You jerk your arm away, frowning, and ask how he knows for sure. Maybe this is a big prank! Maybe his coworkers are trying to fuck with him. He presses his lips together. "Are you crazy? Nobody can do whatever happened in the dining room-- there's just-- there's no way!" Probably not. There are people who can do magic, but that would have required a lot of skill and energy. You've met people before with that kind of skill, but... it does seem far-fetched. You tell Jeff, in no uncertain terms, that you're still going. He rolls his eyes, clearly irritated. "Then I'm coming with you, I guess," he says. "I can't let you wander around by yourself. I have to keep an eye on you. This is private property." Nice of him to imply that you might steal something. Your teeth grit together but it's not worth another fight, so you let it go and proceed towards Nathaniel's wing again. You can still hear the sound of the violin, playing a simple melody you don't know.](if: $fight is false)["H-hey," Jeff says, shaking his head. "Are you really... going to check that out? There's no way that's human... that, it... nobody working here would be doing this." He lets go of your arm and you turn a little more towards him, frowning. Something strange is happening here, you tell him, and standing around isn't getting you any closer to answers or a way out. "I'd settle for the second one," Jeff says. You tell Jeff, in no uncertain terms, that you're still going. "Then I'm coming with you," he says, after a moment's hesitation. You can tell he wants to sound brave, but his voice wavers. "I can't let you wander around by yourself... you need backup. It could be dangerous." You aren't going to argue with that - although you wonder if, maybe, Jeff is a little afraid of being alone himself. The two of you$marley[, Marley in tow,] head towards the sound, towards the open hall of Nathaniel's wing. You take the lead, holding the candle out as if the light it provides is enough to see much by.] [[Go to Nathaniel's wing.]]

It was raining that day, and you'd decided to go see Nathaniel. You felt awkward about that decision. Things had been strange since you'd told him your diagnosis. You'd gone home that night in a stupor; every step had felt like you were walking through slowly setting concrete. Nathaniel hadn't contacted you for the rest of the week, even though it was a time when you'd needed support the most - it had hurt, to be honest. Still, if you'd learned anything over the last week, it was that people didn't know how to react to news of this magnitude. Nobody had any idea how to treat you anymore... so you had to cut Nathaniel some slack. He was undoubtedly shocked, and... it wasn't fair to rely on him for support. Right? Lucy, the Merritt family's live-in maid, had let you in. She'd given you a sad look that made your skin prickle. Did she know? Or were you just being paranoid? She'd taken your umbrella and told you Nathaniel had been upstairs in his study, so you'd gone up the grand staircase, to the left, and stopped fast outside the study door. When you finally gave a timid knock, there was no answer. After a moment of silence, you'd eased the door open yourself. Nathaniel was sitting at his desk, writing with furious speed in a notebook. The state of the room was shocking - you gaped at it; you'd never seen a room in the Merritt home in this level of disarray. There was a plate of food untouched on the corner of the desk, and you got the idea that it was probably cold. The desk was covered in scattered papers and books, and Nathaniel had stacks of books all around the desk on the floor. He'd pinned a few loose pages to the wall nearest him. The entire scene was a disaster. "I don't want it, Lucille, I've told you," Nathaniel said, not looking up from his work. "This is important, don't bother me again." You said you guessed you'd just go home, then, with a tone of joviality you hoped sounded genuine. Your voice was clearly not what Nathaniel had expected to hear - he'd jumped, turning towards you in surprise. His eyes were wild, his hair disheveled. There was a fire lit in the fireplace and the gold light from it glinted in his gaze in a way that made your stomach jump. "Renard," he'd said, like a breath. "I wasn't expecting you." He'd risen from his chair, a shaking hand absently going to rake fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. He stepped forward to grab you in an embrace, but the sickness was acting up badly that day, and the slightest touch brought on a stabbing pain that made you yelp. Nathaniel jerked back, as if burned, and gazed at you with fear and worry in his eyes, before-- You don't want to remember this anymore. Nathaniel is dead now. Breathing life into the ghost of his memory in your head will only cause a different, more lasting kind of pain. You'd sat at the window seat, a cup of tea quivering in your unsteady hands. It wasn't doing much to warm you. Nathaniel sat beside you, long legs folded under him. "Everything will be fine, Renard," he'd told you, quietly, his hands clasped together in his lap. You'd been unable to meet his gaze, your eyes were focused on the heavy rain pouring against dense lines of trees out of Nathaniel's window. "I promise you. Have I ever let you down? More than a promise, I- I vow this to you, I swear it on my life, I will make this right." Denial, you'd heard, was one of the steps of grieving. Bargaining was another. You'd wanted to tell Nathaniel there was no cure, and that nothing he could do could stop the slow shut down of your body, but you thought maybe this was his way of trying to support you. You couldn't bring yourself to spit in his face. You told him you'd wait, and managed a brief smile. You promised you would hold on as long as you could. You'd never expected he would die before you. [[back.|Go left, to Nathaniel's wing.]]

You slowly open the door and step fully inside the study. (if: $fight is false)[Jeff is right behind you and follows, and you both jump as the heavy door slams closed behind him. Immediately, Jeff goes to it, frantically trying to pull it open. You turn to the bookcases, as if expecting books to begin flying off the shelf in another unexplained attack... but the room is terribly still.](if: $fight is true)[Jeff is lagging somewhere behind you - and so when the heavy door slams shut, he's left out in the hall while you're inside. You both rush to your respective sides of the door. Jeff is jiggling and pulling at the handle, but the door won't budge. "Let me in," he says. You pointedly tell him you're not the one who locked him out, and there's a heavy silence between you. "Well-- see if you can find a way out of there, then." You take in a breath, then turn to look around.] The study is, you imagine, just as Nathaniel left it. There are two bookshelves on the left wall, and the wall opposite the door has a wide arched window with a padded window seat and heavy velvet curtains roped back. There is a fireplace and a desk, along with an armchair closer to the bookshelves for reading. And there's something else, too, under the intricate rug on the floor... [[Remember.]]

(if: $fight is true)[You kneel on the floor, grasping the edge of the rug in your hands and throwing it back. A trap door is revealed in the floor. You hadn't been down it in a long time. You tell Jeff there is a way out, and about the trap door. He sounds surprised. "Where does it lead?" The basement, you think - it's definitely under the first floor. Jeff asks you if there's another way down, then, and you tell him there's a second entrance in the kitchen pantry, through a small door that looks more like it leads to a crawlspace. "Okay... I'll head there, then, and meet you down there." He pauses. "Don't do anything stupid." You sigh, swing the trap door open, and verbally agree. You hear Jeff's footsteps fade away, and steel yourself for heading downstairs. You hadn't been down this way in a long time. When you were children, you'd thought this was the coolest thing ever - you and Nathaniel had called it your "secret clubhouse", and looking back on it, you had to give him kudos for indulging your childishness. He was five years older than you, and probably beyond the point of a "secret clubhouse" in the basement or a "hideout" in the woods, but he'd always played with you. Eventually, you'd stopped coming down here as you'd gotten older, and Nathaniel had once off-handedly mentioned that he was using the space for excess storage, which made sense considering he'd had to clear out a room for the new baby. (if: $marley is true)[You ask Marley if she's ready, and she tilts her head, trying to understand what you're saying. You give her a quick scratch behind the ears - just as comforting for you as it is for her. ]Taking a deep breath, you head down the narrow staircase. [[Descend...]]](if: $fight is false)[You kneel on the floor, grasping the edge of the rug in your hands and throwing it back. A trap door is revealed in the floor. You hadn't been down it in a long time. Jeff jumps backwards, clearly surprised. "Whoa! Where does that lead?" The basement, you think - it's definitely under the first floor. "I guess that's our best option," Jeff says, although he doesn't sound very excited about this. You agree. Taking a deep breath, you open the trap door and steel yourself for heading downstairs. You hadn't been down this way in a long time. When you were children, you'd thought this was the coolest thing ever - you and Nathaniel had called it your "secret clubhouse", and looking back on it, you had to give him kudos for indulging your childishness. He was five years older than you, and probably beyond the point of a "secret clubhouse" in the basement or a "hideout" in the woods, but he'd always played with you. Eventually, you'd stopped coming down here as you'd gotten older, and Nathaniel had once off-handedly mentioned that he was using the space for excess storage, which made sense considering he'd had to clear out a room for the new baby. Jeff nods at you, as if to say "here goes nothing", and heads down. (if: $marley is true)[You ask Marley if she's ready, and she tilts her head, trying to understand what you're saying. You give her a quick scratch behind the ears - just as comforting for you as it is for her. ]Taking a deep breath, you head down the narrow staircase. [[Lead Jeff downstairs.]]]

You step through Nathaniel's wing quietly and carefully with $marley[Marley and ]Jeff behind you. This wing wasn't affected by the fire or the explosion so much, and most of it remains eerily preserved in time. You're still looking for the tour group, but considering you don't hear any voices, you're beginning to realize you aren't going to find them. In fact, you don't hear much of anything at all - the music has stopped as soon as it began, and the silence it leaves behind is unnerving and heavy. The first door on your right leads to Nathaniel's study - a room you'd played in a lot as children. You'd often find Nathaniel in this room reading or studying as you - as he'd - gotten older. There'd been [[one day]] in particular... No time to get lost in reverie now. Still, something about this room bothers you... [[Enter.]]

It doesn't surprise you that the basement isn't how you remember it - but it is surprising to see the state it's in. It hardly looks like a storage room. When you flip the light switch in hopes of getting a better look, the same bare lightbulb illuminates the tiny room as you remember, but the feeling of the light is clinical and cold rather than the inviting, secretive warmth it had provided in your youth. There's a desk set up here, with scattered notes. You recognize the handwriting as Nathaniel's, but the shorthand method he's using is difficult to read and you don't really follow it. If this is storage, it's certainly sparse and neat... but what's more out-of-place than a lack of boxes or childhood knick-knacks is a smell you're having a hard time ignoring. As you step through the room, which is tight and cramped even with so little in it, you can't help but raise your hand to cover your nose and mouth. Something is bad down here. [[Look around a little more.]]

It doesn't surprise you that the basement isn't how you remember it - but it is surprising to see the state it's in. "Storage?" Jeff asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Doesn't really look like he had much to store." When you flip the light switch in hopes of getting a better look, the same bare lightbulb illuminates the tiny room as you remember, but the feeling of the light is clinical and cold rather than the inviting, secretive warmth it had provided in your youth. Jeff is right - this doesn't look at all like you expected. There's a desk set up here, with scattered notes. You recognize the handwriting as Nathaniel's, but the shorthand method he's using is difficult to read and you don't really follow it. Jeff is obviously interested - he joins you at the desk, beginning to look through the papers with great interest. If this is storage, it's certainly sparse and neat... but what's more out-of-place than a lack of boxes or childhood knick-knacks is a smell you're having a hard time ignoring. As you turn away from Jeff and step through the room, which is tight and cramped even with so little in it, you can't help but raise your hand to cover your nose and mouth. Something is bad down here. [[Take a closer look around.]]

The basement "hideout" is separated into a few small rooms, if you recall correctly. They'd felt larger when you were a kid, but you suppose that's not unusual. The door to the second room is partially open, and you ease it the rest of the way, trying not to feel frightened by the loud creak the hinges produce. The second room looks a little more like storage. There are a few shelves, one with a few books, another with bottles and various unusual equipment. You creep past the shelves in the low light provided by the sparsely-placed bulbs in confusion. This doesn't seem like something real. You feel like you must be having some kind of extended dream. There's a tray on a metal cart with surgical instruments on it, and you stare at them for a long moment. You understand what they are, but you don't fully comprehend the reality of what it is you're looking at or why it could be there. Lines of shelves have created a sort of winding path to the door, and as you turn the corner, you catch sight of a pinboard that grabs your attention. On it there are photographs of you. [[Look closer.]]

Jeff seems to realize that he can't really make heads or tails of these notes either and abandons them. You both head through the door to the next adjoining room. The basement "hideout" is separated into a few small rooms. They'd felt larger when you were a kid, but you suppose that's not unusual. The door to the second room is partially open, and you ease it the rest of the way, trying not to feel frightened by the loud creak the hinges produce. Jeff steps past you, looking around. The second room looks a little more like storage. There are a few shelves, one with a few books, another with bottles and various unusual equipment. You creep past the shelves in the low light provided by the sparsely-placed bulbs in confusion. This doesn't seem like something real. You feel like you must be having some kind of extended dream. There's a tray on a metal cart with surgical instruments on it, and you stare at them for a long moment. You understand what they are, but you don't fully comprehend the reality of what it is you're looking at or why it could be there. You stare at them with pointed attention, and almost don't hear Jeff's voice calling your name with a pronounced shake in it. You turn away from the tray to see what it is he's found. Lines of shelves have created a sort of winding path to the door, and as you turn the corner, you see Jeff standing in front of a pinboard that grabs your attention. On it there are photographs of you. [[Look at Jeff's discovery.]]

"There's a staircase here," you explain, as you pull the door open. You're talking so quickly your words run together, but Jeff nods. "It leads to a crawlspace in the pantry-- we can--" There's a loud crash and a clatter, and Jeff cries out in fear. You both dash into the next room. The smell is overwhelmingly foul, but you can't focus on it or where it's coming from. You have to run. [[Run.]]

The scalpel flies off the tray first - you yelp, trying to evade it, and it clatters to the floor. A voice calls your name, and then again, louder. It's Nathaniel's voice. (if: $sprain is true)[ [[Try to get away.]]](if: $sprain is false)[ [[Make it outside.]]]

Your ankle can't take the constant pain of running. Jeff is ahead of you, clambering up the stairs, and you try to follow but you miss the second step and fall. Marley hesitates, turning to come after you. Jeff calls your name, panicked, and you try to get to your feet, but the scalpel embeds itself in the back of your right calf and you scream, a hand going instantly to rip it out. You couldn't see Nathaniel before - but as you roll over to face the force of the attack, you can certainly see him now. "Renard," he says, sounding like a gasp of breath. "You came back. There's only one more thing I need to do." [[Beg.]]

You cry out in terror, seconds behind Jeff on the narrow staircase. The door to the crawlspace slams shut but Jeff yanks it open - you're surprised, because for a moment you were certain you were trapped again. You both jump out into the pantry, crashing against the pantry door and into the kitchen. Pots and pans clatter in the cupboards, and the cupboard doors fly open. Most things seem to be aimed more at Jeff than at you. You rush towards the back door, throwing yourself against it. It gives on the third try, and on the fourth, the door flies open and both you and Jeff run out of the house and into the forest just beyond the small expanse of cleared grass. The crowd of people who had been out here only an hour or so ago are gone. You don't understand how that's possible - but you aren't going to spend a lot of time loitering to figure it out. There's crashes and bangs behind you, and you're certain whatever is attacking you (Nathaniel) is chasing you out of the house, too. "Into the trees!" Jeff cries, and you're right behind him(if: $marley is true)[, Marley at your heels]. You run blindly - you have no idea how far or how long it's been - until you can't run anymore, and you're both gasping for breath. The woods are cold and, once you've both stopped catching your breath, silent and still. You look at each other with unnerved expressions, unsure what to do. Jeff shivers without a jacket, arms going around himself. (if: $oldmap is true)[ [[Consult your map.]] ](if: $oldmap is false)[ [[Head back towards the house.]] ]

You nearly trip over your own feet to stagger closer to the board. It's mounted to the wall just above a small desk, and you rest palms on the dusty desktop, leaning in to get a better look. You remember many of these pictures - they're all of you, from ages 15 to 19 years old or so. Nathaniel is in some of them - there's a photograph of you both at the nearby river, where you're shirtless and have hands on your hips and your chest thrust out and you're grinning, and Nathaniel is laughing - a photo of you and Nathaniel sitting at a table during a barbeque with plates of food, but the photo is torn in a way that suggests that anyone else in the picture was purposefully removed - a photo of you riding your bike that has a note partially rested over it, and when you lift the note to see what's underneath, you see it's your sister standing just behind you, but her face has been scribbled out. There's a queasy feeling in your stomach and you drop the note back down. Only now do you read what it says - "symptoms: erythematosus (observed), fatigue, fever (cannot rule out infection), suspected anemia (would need blood test to confirm)". You just stare at it in a vague confusion. With shaking hands, you pull open the drawer on the small desk you're leaning against and begin searching the contents. There's not much there, but most notably there is a thick manilla folder which you quickly pull out and open. There are many papers within. Most have Nathaniel's handwriting on them and seem to be daily reports, as they are all dated precisely. "09/19 - R complained of headache today; seems to be on new medication for seizures. Will need to do research on exact formula. Subject 8 has been infected, developing desired symptoms. Can likely begin testing in 72 hours or sooner if necessary severity level reached. See attached notes for further testing schedule/formula. Subject 7 condition worsening. Will attempt second treatment. Subject 6 deceased." You read this paper three times as if failing to understand what it communicates. There are hundreds more like it, some with attached photos. Some of them are of you. Many of them are of people you do not recognize. Of these, some of the photographs are of people who are certainly dead. This can't be real. This can't be real. Nathaniel wouldn't do this. Nathaniel couldn't possibly do this. You drop the file and papers and snapshots scatter everywhere. The smell in the room is now sickeningly strong. Your stomach wants to empty its contents, but you stubbornly swallow it down and the acid burns in your throat. You need to leave, right now. You have to find Jeff and get out of here. There is a stirring among the papers and a quiet clatter of steel surgical instruments against their tray. Your heart pounds in your chest and you run for the door to the third room. The staircase from the crawlspace door entrance is there, and it's your best bet for escape. [[Find Jeff.]]

When you get to the third room, Jeff is already there. In the dim lighting you see the dark outline of a figure at the foot of the staircase, and a wave of relief washes over you. You call out his name, but for a moment, he does not stir. Something in that moment halts your feet, and you stop, ten feet away. You realize suddenly that you do not have the candle anymore - you must have set it down at some point in the previous room, and forgotten it in your panic over the file you'd discovered. You repeat Jeff's name again, warily this time. He looks over his shoulder, then turns to survey you. Something seems wrong. You ask him if he's okay. "Renard," he says, slowly. You take one step backwards. [[Tell Jeff about your discovery.]]

You nearly trip over your own feet to stagger closer to the board. It's mounted to the wall just above a small desk, and nudge Jeff out of the way subconsciously to rest your palms on the dusty desktop, leaning in to get a better look. Jeff easily moves out of the way, but his eyes are still on the board, his face drawn deep in an expression of alarm. You remember many of these pictures - they're all of you, from ages 15 to 19 years old or so. Nathaniel is in some of them - there's a photograph of you both at the nearby river, where you're shirtless and have hands on your hips and your chest thrust out and you're grinning, and Nathaniel is laughing - a photo of you and Nathaniel sitting at a table during a barbeque with plates of food, but the photo is torn in a way that suggests that anyone else in the picture was purposefully removed - a photo of you riding your bike that has a note partially rested over it, and when you lift the note to see what's underneath, you see it's your sister standing just behind you, but her face has been scribbled out. There's a queasy feeling in your stomach and you drop the note back down. Only now do you read what it says - "symptoms: erythematosus (observed), fatigue, fever (cannot rule out infection), suspected anemia (would need blood test to confirm)". You just stare at it in a vague confusion. With shaking hands, you pull open the drawer on the small desk you're leaning against and begin searching the contents. There's not much there, but most notably there is a thick manilla folder which you quickly pull out and open. There are many papers within. Most have Nathaniel's handwriting on them and seem to be daily reports, as they are all dated precisely. "09/19 - R complained of headache today; seems to be on new medication for seizures. Will need to do research on exact formula. Subject 8 has been infected, developing desired symptoms. Can likely begin testing in 72 hours or sooner if necessary severity level reached. See attached notes for further testing schedule/formula. Subject 7 condition worsening. Will attempt second treatment. Subject 6 deceased." You read this paper three times as if failing to understand what it communicates. There are hundreds more like it, some with attached photos. Some of them are of you. Many of them are of people you do not recognize. Of these, some of the photographs are of people who are certainly dead. You drop the file and papers and snapshots scatter everywhere. The smell in the room is now sickeningly strong. Your stomach wants to empty its contents, but you stubbornly swallow it down and the acid burns in your throat. "Oh my god," Jeff gasps, and he's clearly come to the same half-conclusion you have - neither of you have all of the pieces, but the puzzle that's coming together is of something more grotesque than either of you could imagine. This can't be real. This can't be real. Nathaniel wouldn't do this. Nathaniel couldn't possibly do this. There is a stirring among the papers and a quiet clatter of steel surgical instruments against their tray. "Renard," Jeff says, again, but his tone is more panicked this time. Your heart pounds in your chest and you run for the door to the third room, Jeff $marley(and Marley )at your heels. The staircase from the crawlspace door entrance is there, and it's your best bet for escape. [[Get out of here.]]

You tell Jeff you think it's best to try the back door in the kitchen - maybe you'll be able to escape. You tell him you've seen things here that make you think you should get out of here as soon as possible. The smell is terrible in this room. You refuse to allow yourself to look around, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on Jeff's face. He smiles. "There's no way out through the back door," he says. "Don't worry. I tried." Your mouth feels dry and you can't help but cup your hand around your nose and mouth again. Your eyes are watering and you suppress a cough. You suggest trying the upstairs windows. Jeff takes a step towards you. [[I've waited for you.]]

There's a light in his eyes that belongs to someone else entirely. You tear your gaze away and you can see what's causing the terrible smell. There are three bodies kept caged and chained in small confinement spaces. Their bodies are incredibly decomposed, but still recognizable for what they are. You retch, bend over, and vomit immediately. Your head is pounding and your balance isn't the best - you'd bent over too quickly and were too dizzy already, and when Jeff had reached his hand out to grasp your shoulder, the slight weight sent you toppling over. "Renard," he repeats. His voice sounds heavier than before. "You're sick." You spit and gasp for air. You beg Jeff to come to his senses. Doesn't he realize you have to get out of here? [[Jeff was difficult to overcome.]]

"He fought," Jeff - no, Jeff's voice - says. He kneels, squatting beside you. You're on your hands and knees now. (if: $marley is true)[Marley growls, but Jeff ignores her. ]"But I'm very ambitious. Don't worry - everything will be fine now." You shake your head, not understanding. "I told you before I would make this right," Jeff's voice says, and he stands to his feet, crossing the room, rolling up the cuffed sleeves of the police uniform costume as he does. "I've hung onto that promise. It's kept me here." [[All I needed was an opportunity.]]

When he returns to your side, he has a syringe. You jerk back, moving to try to scramble away, but your brain is fuzzy and you feel faint enough that you can't seem to force your body to its feet. You try to scuttle back towards the staircase, but Jeff follows you with three wide strides and seizes your shirt collar, and you throw a hand out to try and push him away but your force seems weak and useless. "Shh, Renard," he whispers. "Here-- this will help." You feel a pinch, a sharp sting, and within moments, your limbs are limp and heavy and the world fades away. [[Rest.]]

You have a [[dream.]]

You hope it is a dream. There is a cold grip around your wrists, and Nathaniel is there, speaking to you, quietly. "I was always working to fulfill that promise," he says. "And I did everything carefully. Even you didn't know, not for months." He checks your pulse, your temperature, and runs a hand through your hair. You groan and your stomach retches again. "But they were going to find out, Renard. And then-- well... you understand now. You can make sense of what happened." You shake your head - or you think you do, but you're not sure it actually works. Your head feels heavy and you feel [[so far away.]]

"Rest," he tells you. "You're doing so well." You [[listen.]]

When you wake, you have no way of knowing how much time has passed - but the bodies that were chained beside you are gone, and the room smells strongly of cleaner. You stir and hear the rustle of chains. You are shackled to the wall, and you can't get anywhere. You pull at the chains, but there's not much slack. The shackles are tight against your wrists. This can't be happening. And even if it is - there's surely a tour group upstairs, just above your head, listening to a gruesome story about a son murdering his family. There's someone who can help you, isn't there? Or maybe not. You think of the queue you'd stood in and the crowd of people and try to feel hope, but ... you hadn't been able to find anyone else in the house besides Jeff. And even if you'd just missed them, there was no way of knowing how many hours you'd been unconscious. The tours could easily be closed for the night by now. You couldn't even be sure it wasn't already dawn. You cry for help, your voice hoarse, but hardly anything comes out. You cry out again. (if: $marley is true)[Marley is in the corner nearest you, cowering. You admit, you're relieved to see her safe.] [[What can you do now?]]

(if: $lighter is true)[You reach into your pockets and you don't find much - except your lighter. There's quite a bit being kept in this room. Various medical supplies, most notably - but what really catches your eye is a small collection of supplies labeled flammable, stored beside a few oxygen tanks. One of those tanks was just like the one that was responsible for the explosion that took Nathaniel's life. You can end all of this if you light your lighter and combust those tanks - but you'll kill yourself, (if: $marley is true)[Marley, ]Jeff, and anyone else who could be in the house if you do. But Nathaniel... if he's really determined to "cure" you, he'll resume his experiments, and that means using Jeff's body to kidnap more people. To do terrible things to them. You swallow, holding the lighter in your hands. What should you do? [[Light it.]] [[Put the lighter away.]] ](if: $lighter is false)[Your shoulders slump and you try to relax against the concrete floor. To be honest, you don't know what to do. It's hard to fight when you've already lived longer than you should have. What if Nathaniel can cure you? [[What are you thinking?]] ]

You press down on the button, and the flame is lit. Squeezing your eyes shut, you throw the lighter towards the canisters. The fumes ignite first, and then the liquid inside. Soon, a fire has started, and it gets larger and larger. The last thing you hear is a pop as the metal tank [[combusts]].

You quickly tuck the lighter back into your pocket, horrified at what you'd just considered. You could never do that. You can't believe you were even able to conceive it. Your shoulders slump and you try to relax against the concrete floor. To be honest, you don't know what to do. It's hard to fight when you've already lived longer than you should have. What if Nathaniel can cure you? [[What are you thinking?]]

How can you stop Nathaniel when even death couldn't stop him? The door opens and you jump, alert - it's Nathaniel, standing in the doorway, surveying you with an impassive expression. "I'm so glad you're here," he says, quietly. "But there's so much I've missed these past years, isn't there?" You can only stare at him. You know this man is Nathaniel, not Jeff - but you can't bring yourself to address him as your friend. It isn't that he doesn't look like himself. You wonder if the friend you thought you knew ever really existed. Were you wrong this whole time? You had spent the last year vehemently denying to anyone who asked that he could have killed his family - and not only were you wrong about that, but it turned out there had been so much more nobody had had a clue about. "I have to get caught up," he says, and he steps towards you, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "Let's begin [[treatment]]."

BAD END #1: TOGETHER FOREVER Thank you for playing! Please try again and see if you can uncover another reality.

BAD END #4: HISTORY REPEATS Thank you for playing! Please try again and see if you can uncover another reality.

You whimper. Nathaniel reaches for the scalpel, pulling it from your fingers. "You're going to die," he tells you. You know this already. "But if I kill you here, you can stay with me forever." You thought you'd accepted death. It hadn't been easy - but you had. Still, the nightmares you'd had had typically involved a hospital bed or a messy seizure or a family member finding you at home - never your childhood best friend above you, limbs agonizingly too solid, thighs on either side of you pinning you at the bottom of a staircase with a scalpel in his hand. You open your mouth to ask Nathaniel to let you go, to let you die peacefully - but the words are stopped by a flow of blood as the scalpel is embedded deep in your [[throat]].

BAD END #2: 'TIL DEATH DO US PART Thank you for playing! Please try again and see if you can uncover another reality.

You shove your hands into your jacket pockets and are surprised to find a crinkle of well-worn paper inside. At first, you think it's the flyer for the haunted attraction - but when you pull it out, you realize it's the detailed map of these very woods that you'd worked so hard to create with Nathaniel as children. The map is tattered and hand-drawn (and taped together in some places), and it shows your house, the Merritt house, and all the land in between. You realize, with a sudden surge of excitement, that you can even pinpoint where you are on this map, thanks to the quiet babbling creek just a few metres away. You step towards the creek, eyes on the map, and Jeff watches you with interest. "What's that?" he asks. You explain, and he doesn't seem to understand how it's going to help, but follows anyway. There's almost no finding your way in these woods now without heading back to the Merritt house, and that's the last place you want to be. But with this map, if you follow this creek and then make a turn in a certain place, you can find somewhere perfect to hide... at least until the sun comes up. [[Follow the map.]]

You aren't sure where you are and you aren't sure what to do. You glance towards Jeff, and he looks just as lost as you are. You suggest heading back towards the house, and Jeff stares at you like you're growing a second head. "Are you crazy?" he asks. "Back to that ... that haunted shit? There's no way I'm--" You stop him to explain you aren't going back inside, but if you can get back to the house you can find your way to the street, and then you can get the hell out of there instead of wandering around the woods all night. Jeff swallows and finally nods. "I think we must have come from this way," he says. It's not hard to tell what direction you came from - the woods are trampled down from your rampage, and you both begin a slow trudge over your newly created path back the way you came, anxiety building in your chest. [[Reach the house.]]

You reach the house again fast - strangely, walking back took much less time than you're sure you were running for. Going around the house, you find the front deserted. Any signs of the queue of people or any of the employees are gone. Even the signs advertising the "haunted attraction" and the lights they'd set up are strangely absent. It feels empty and sterile and wrong, and Jeff is struck silent with confusion. You walk towards the driveway, where the road should be, but the gravel stops suddenly and the road seems to have disappeared - in its place is a thick line of trees. You'd walked this path hundreds or thousands of times in your life, and now, the path is gone. "This isn't right," Jeff says, seriously. "This can't be right, something is wrong." You agree to split up and walk around the house, but neither of you are able to find anything but the woods. There's no path, no road, and no lights or signs of life. You remember that there was always a bright light visible from Nathaniel's driveway that illuminated the road, but even that light seems to be extinguished. It's as if the only place left to go is [[back]].

BAD END #3: THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED Thank you for playing! Please try again and see if you can uncover another reality.

After a short time, you come to a small clearing where a fallen tree is propped against another, and a strange sort of shelter appears to have been built. It's the clubhouse you'd built with Nathaniel so long ago. You have to admit, you're amazed at how well it's weathered Canadian winters. You'd put a lot into this little shelter, and it's nice to see your first architecture project still standing. You pull open the door (it had been fixed with a pullstring to swing upwards, and you're not quite sure why except that you'd thought the idea was cool) and Jeff stoops to head inside(if: $marley is true)[, with Marley stepping after him, giving you a curious glance over her shoulder]. You follow, letting the door drop closed after you. The inside of the shelter is small and cramped, and it slopes down dramatically on one side following the curve of the fallen tree. You let out a breath, feeling somehow soothed by the familiar scenery. Something about this place feels safe. (if: $marley is true)[ [[Notice Marley is trying to get your attention.]] ](if: $marley is false)[ [[Crash.]] ]

Suddenly, Marley's ears move forward and she hops up towards you, grabbing your jacket sleeve in her mouth, falling and letting it go, and hopping up again to begin licking your hand. "What's gotten into her?" Jeff asks. You pale, your stomach bottoming out. What a terrible time... You thank Marley and she stops, sitting and wagging her tail. You know what this means. She's alerting you because you're about to have a seizure. You quickly retrieve the small syringe from your pants pocket, uncapping it. It's a small solution of an instant acting medication that should prevent your seizure - or at least make it much better. You quickly sit on the ground, rip off your jacket, and stick the syringe in your arm, pressing the button to send the needle and its medicine into your skin. Moments later, the feeling of an oncoming seizure starts, ebbs, and gradually begins to even out. You let out a shaky breath. Jeff watches all of this with concerned confusion, and the air in the shelter is tense and still. You close your eyes and try to relax your muscles, and after long moments, you reassure Jeff that you're okay. When you open your eyes, the look on his face is somehow wrong, and you know the man you're talking to isn't Jeff at all. [[Greet Nathaniel.]]

Unfortunately, the feeling of rightness doesn't last long. You turn to talk to Jeff, but suddenly, you can't move - your body feels tight and rigid, and your limbs begin to tremble. You shiver, certain you can feel a cold wind across your skin, and your mouth is filled with a terrible taste of metal as if blood is coating your tongue. Everything feels wrong. You're immediately certain you're going to die. You feel yourself collapse, and a jolt strikes down your head and travels along your spine lightning-quick to your feet. You're seizing. [[You black out.]]

When you wake up, you're lying in a bed. Not a bad. Your bed. You sit up, dazed, and immediately your head is swimming. A strong hand pushes against your shoulder, forcing you back down against the bed. "Shhh," someone says. The tone sounds familiar. "Renard. You had a seizure." You try to speak, but your words come out a jumbled mess of sound. You can't tell whose hand is on you, but you're certain no hand is supposed to be on you. You're certain you should be alone. You feel a pounding surge of adrenaline, but you can't make your body move like the chemical is screaming for. "I can't believe you thought you could escape me there," the voice continues. It sounds... amused? But chiding, almost. You look down, using as much effort as you can exert just to move your head. The hand pressing against your shoulder is dark-skinned, and you think Jeff?, but you know it isn't Jeff at all. You murmur Nathaniel's name, and the fingers on that hand squeeze your shoulder in a way that's likely meant to be reassuring. [[You're safe now.]]

"Don't worry," Nathaniel says. "I'll take care of you." Your mind struggles to understand - to piece together everything you've seen into a cohesive picture. It can't. It can't. Nathaniel, you say again. It's barely a whisper. "I promised you, didn't I?" Nathaniel says. "No matter what, I will cure you. I told you before I would make this right. I've hung onto that promise. It's kept me here. I was always working to fulfill that promise," he says. "And I did everything carefully. Even you didn't know, not for months." He checks your pulse, your temperature, and runs a hand through your hair. You groan and your stomach retches. "But they were going to find out, Renard. And then-- well... you understand now. You can make sense of what happened." You shake your head - or you think you do, but you're not sure it actually works. Your head feels heavy and you feel so far away. "Rest," he tells you. "You're doing so well." You strain against the hand, trying to sit up - but you don't have the energy. And even if you can sit up, what will you do? [[What are you thinking?]]

"You're not okay," Nathaniel says. "You're seizing again. Let me help you, Renard." He takes a step towards you, but you put up a hand, halting him. He watches you with uncertain confusion. You tell Nathaniel seizing is a part of your disease - an inescapable fact of your life. [[And soon that life will end.]]

"No," he insists, fiercely. "I promised you I would fix this, Renard. That promise has kept me--" But you stop him, because you've already surmised the terrible things that promise made him do. Nathaniel poured everything into becoming a doctor, studying medicine, and hurting other people, just to "save you" - the thought of it makes you sick. And then he'd killed his own family, just to keep them from uncovering the truth of what he was doing... and now he's still trapped here, waiting for a chance to continue what he'd done while he was alive? [[You can't allow it.]]

You tell Nathaniel there was never nothing he could do, and that it was okay. He stares at you with his face drawn in an angry and stubborn expression, his mouth a thin line. "Renard," he says, quietly. "You don't know what you're saying." You tell Nathaniel you're going to die - you've known that for a long time. You've accepted it. [[You want him to accept it, too.]]

All the good memories you had together - those times were precious to you, and you hold them in your heart every day. Even the day your heart fails, those memories will still be a part of you, forever. You tell Nathaniel you're so thankful he was there with you, every day, making those memories, giving your life meaning. It was a short life, but he'd enriched it. That was enough. You ask him, does he believe in an afterlife? Not like this. Something else. He hesitates, then shrugs. "Perhaps." Then maybe he should accept death, too. And then when you're gone, probably very soon, you can meet him there. [[You don't need to do any more.]]

It's enough. It's always been enough. Slowly, you [[feel yourself falling asleep]].

When you wake up, you're lying in a bed. Not a bad. Your bed. You sit up, dazed, and immediately your head is swimming. A strong hand pushes against your shoulder, forcing you back down against the bed. "Shhh," someone says. The tone sounds familiar. "Renard. You had a seizure." You try to speak, but your words come out a jumbled mess of sound. Jeff is there, smiling - real Jeff, not someone using his face. Somehow, you're just certain of it. You breathe out a sigh of relief. Over the next few days, everything is sorted out. The haunted attraction is stopped pretty quickly - apparently your lawyer gave them the rights to use the property without consulting you. (He's not your lawyer anymore.) You tell the police about the basement hidespace and they open a full investigation - which solves quite a few missing person's cases, including the case of Jeff's brother, just as he'd expected. Together, you and Jeff write a book detailing the truth of what Nathaniel did. You try your best not to make an ounce of it sensationalism. A year later, you're lying in a hospital bed, and you know this is the end. Jeff comes to visit, and you confess to him what happened that night in the shelter - something you'd been stubbornly tight-lipped about. He listens with quiet understanding. "Are you afraid to see him again?" he asks. You think about this question. [[No.]]

That night, as the heart monitor beeps quietly, you rest your eyes. Marley sleeps in a ball at your feet - the hospital wasn't happy about it, but they didn't have the heart to fight with you too much. You think about the look in Nathaniel's eyes when you told him you'd accepted death. When you told him he didn't need to save you. You think about his hand reaching out for yours, and [[you take it]].

GOOD END: ESCAPE Thank you for playing! Please try again and see if you can uncover another reality.