The Lighthouse
by Marius Müller (2009)
Genres: Horror

Lighthouses simultaneously stand at the border between land and sea and the border between old and new. They are naturally good settings for secrets. Do you dare visit this one?

action: %
response: What a way to end a holiday.
First you slipped in the shower and broke your arm, and now you've lost your way on a remote "must-see" like  Buwch Island. Then the rain. When you set out on your trip, it was a drizzle. When you realized you took a wrong turn, it was pouring. And, now, as you are back on track, it's a full-blown thunderstorm. Lightning hits the roaring waves in the distance, like screaming giants at war. The wind claws at your face and clothes, making you stagger. The cast doesn't help with that, either.
But you promised yourself that you'd  see the famous St. Cafasso lighthouse. The way back to town is too long now anyway.

You shield your eyes once more and finally see the damned thing, a mile or two in the distance, its light circling the horizon, the only sign of human life in the raging inferno.

(FIRST TIME PLAYERS AND THOSE NEW TO IF SHOULD TYPE ABOUT)

The path has turned into inch-deep mud, and only with the help of the glaringly white lightning can you distinguish it from the soaked meadows all around you. It snakes its way upwards, towards the lighthouse on the cliffs, some miles north.
action: You look at lighthouse
response: Hidden by the curtain of rain, and sparsely illuminated by the occasional lightning, it stands tall and lean on the edge of the cliffs, providing light in eternal circles, unhindered by the elements. You know that it's made of brick and that the light is provided by an old lantern, for historical purposes. Shipping traffic in these waters has ceased a long time ago.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a cast (being worn)
action: You examine the cast
response: It's a white cast, reminiscent of a half-awake shower, a sudden slip and an embarrasing call to the front desk. It's, sadly, unsigned.
action: About yourself
response: You are a young tourist, determined on seeing the St. Buwch Lighthouse, to give this last day of your vacation some dignity.
action: You go north
response: A path snakes off to the southeast, trickling lines of mud ebbing into the grass. The northbound path leads further upwards, against a small current of dirt and debris, to the crest of a small mound. The rain taps on a metallic roadsign by the fork with a strangely industrial, almost urban sound.
action: You read the sign
response: It's printed black on grey, and therefore almost impossible to make out in this weather. But by shielding your eyes, squinting, and moving your head to catch the reflections, you can decipher "BUWCH ISLAND RING PATH 12km" -to the southeast and "BUWCH ISLAND VILLAGE 3km" - to the south. "ST. CAFASSO LIGHTHOUSE - 500 mtrs north" looks the most promising.
action: You get the sign
response: That's hardly portable.
action: Turn sign
response: It is fixed in place.
action: You examine man
response: You take a few steps towards the man at the table, and then shudder. Reflexively shielding your eyes from the passing of the light, your stomach clenches as you realize what your mind just blocked out: He's dead. His arms lie too limp, his body lacks all the subtle movements of life. The hood of his yellow oilskin jacket is pulled back, revealing tousled black hair. He looks vulnerable and young, touchingly out of place. A residue of foam still lingers around his mouth, the rest washed away by the rain.
action: You examine the jacket
response: You'd expect a fisherman to wear one of those. It's waterproof and bright-yellow.
action: You search it
response: You search the the big pockets guiltily. You find a small pill bottle.
action: You examine bottle
response: A small white plastic bottle. Seems to be a lorazepam substitute, some sort of sleeping pill. It's empty.
action: You get the bottle
response: You already have that.
action: Search jacket
response: You find nothing of interest.

There seem to be voices in the wind. You shudder.
action: You examine the picnic table
response: The table and the bench are bolted together. Both are actually made of wood, dark and wet. You glimpse a hint of countless carved names, dates, obscenities.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a pill bottle
a cast (being worn)
action: Go north
response: The brickwork of the tower itself is dark like an underexposed black and white picture. It looms high above you, like a faceless giant standing eternal guard.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison. It even has an electric bell.
action: You examine the bell
response: It's a small, round, red button.
action: You tell the davidson about the corpse
response: [Use TALK TO to interact with characters.]
action: You talk to Davidson
response: "Hello, Mrs. Davidson. Nice to let me in."
She squints at you again. "You aren't the Johnson boy, are you?"

[1] "That must be the young man I found ... outside. He's dead. At the picnic table. He committed suicide."
action: 1
response: Her eyes are suddenly wide with shock. "Sui- Suicide?" She shakes her head. "That coward." Then she sighs - "Nevermind, there is a telephone at the top. We have to call the cops."

You climb what feels like a hundred clanking, metal stairs. The cold metal of the railing bites your hand, rust flakes sticking to your white, waxy skin.

The light of the big lantern blinds you every few seconds. Nothing but a rusty railing keeps you from plunging headfirst into the roaring sea. In the distance, the thunderstorm is raging ceaselessly, as if ancient gods roar war at civilization.

Mrs. Davidson arrives behind you, resting at the top of the stairs for a moment to catch her breath.

The wind picks up for a moment, almost throwing you off balance, rain drops hitting you in painful volleys.
action: You look around
response: The light of the big lantern blinds you every few seconds. Nothing but a rusty railing keeps you from plunging headfirst into the roaring sea. In the distance, the thunderstorm is raging ceaselessly, as if ancient gods roar war at civilization.

Mrs. Davidson stands her, slightly squinting, and smiling.

For a moment, you think you hear the fog horn of a ship, somewhere out at sea.
action: You look at Davidson
response: Laura must be in her late forties, with the first grey streaks in her black hair. She has a friendly, wrinkled face, fitting perfectly for a lighthouse keeper who spends a lot of time at the sea and with tourists.
She is hiding something in her hand - you catch a glimpse of metal.
action: You look at the hand
response: You can't see any such thing.

You can't see any such thing.
action: You talk to Laura
response: You turn to her and open your mouth, but she looks at you as if she's been caught red-handed. You notice a flash from her hand - as if she's carrying something made of steel.
action: You talk to her
response: You turn to her and open your mouth, but she looks at you as if she's been caught red-handed. You notice a flash from her hand - as if she's carrying something made of steel.

Suddenly, Mrs. Davidson jumps at you. At first you think she fell, but then you feel a sudden, burning pain in your side. Almost immediately, your body goes limp and numb with shock. Your legs falter under you, and the woman holds you gently, as you both sink to the ground, almost like lovers.
Her grey eyes are dark with sorrow, as she whispers: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it had to be..." You look at her, feeling perplexingly guilty at the motherly look in her eyes. Then color fades from the world, slowly, and above you the light circles and circles.
action: Go downward
response: As you arrive at the foot of the stairs, Laura looks up at you from a pool of blood. "Listen kid", she whispers, "it had to be... I'm so sorry. It has to be fed. It's our pledge. To keep the mother away. Please understand" - she's wheezing now, something important inside her broken. Her eyes are dark with death - "we had to." She doesn't roll her eyes. There is no sudden lightning. The thunderstorm just wails at the lighthouse walls, as if it were you conscience, trying to get in.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

A weird dagger lies here.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.

You can also see a keyring (on which are a steel key, a crystal key and a bronze key) here.
action: You examine the dagger
response: It's a short, double-bladed dagger. It looks incredibly old, but the point is still sharp.
action: You take dagger and keyring
response: dagger: Taken.
keyring: Taken.
action: You open it
response: You open the cupboard, revealing a wooden box.
action: You open the box
response: You open the wooden box, revealing a flare gun.
action: You look at the gun
response: It looks old, but is in good shape. It seems to be loaded.
action: You take it
response: Taken.
action: You examine the crystal key
response: This is a sight to behold. The crystal substance  makes it luminous, and the sheer beauty of it makes it seem unreal.
action: You look at the bronze key
response: It's a thick bronze key, tarnished and scratched.
action: You examine the steel key
response: It's a modern, steel key.
action: You look at trapdoor
response: This is clearly a trapdoor - the wood is different from the surrounding floor, and it has big metal hinges. The small lock on it looks amazing; it's made of crystal and has strange carvings on it - human figures and some sort of sea monster. It's too tiny to make out properly.
action: Look around
response: This circular room is dominated by the red brickwork and the circular stairs leading upwards, rusty metal like the door. The furniture seems to be an afterthought.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: You go to the south
response: (first opening the lighthouse door)
(first unlocking the lighthouse door)
(with the steel key)

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison. It even has an electric bell.
action: You take the body
response: You try to heave him onto your shoulder but the cast prevents it.
action: Drag body
response: It is fixed in place.
action: Xyzzy
response: There is no escape.

There seem to be voices in the wind. You shudder.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a flare gun
a keyring
a steel key
a crystal key
a bronze key
a dagger
a pill bottle
a cast (being worn)
action: Go north
response: The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison. It even has an electric bell.
action: Go north
response: There is a trapdoor in the floor.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: The light of the big lantern blinds you every few seconds. Nothing but a rusty railing keeps you from plunging headfirst into the roaring sea. In the distance, the thunderstorm is raging ceaselessly, as if ancient gods roar war at civilization.
action: You examine the railing
response: It's painfully cold to the touch, spotted with rust, eerily illuminated by the thunderstorm.
action: You look at lantern
response: It's some sort of electrical lantern, buzzing loudly and emiting a steady, yellowish light, blinding and hot up here. The surface is littered with dead insects.

There is a shudden, sharp, stabbing pain in your back. Too much walking in the cold. You move your back a bit, to ease the strain. The pain dies down.
action: Go downwards
response: The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: You open the trapdoor
response: (first unlocking the trapdoor)
(with the crystal key)
You open the trapdoor.
action: Down
response: You are standing in a small recess. This small space feels old and inhospitable.

A bluish metal door leadseastwards into the cliffs. It's engraved with weird symbols.

There is a trapdoor in the ceiling.
action: You examine the door
response: Which do you mean, the metal door or the trapdoor?
action: Metal
response: The symbols are unlike anything you've ever seen, yet they fill you with a certain dread, something very basic, primeval.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a flare gun
a keyring
a steel key
a crystal key
a bronze key
a dagger
a pill bottle
a cast (being worn)
action: You open the metal door
response: (first unlocking the metal door)
(with the bronze key)
You open the metal door.
action: You examine keyring
response: You see nothing special about the keyring.

On the keyring nothing.
action: Go east
response: God, the stench. Fish and flesh and sweat and fear. The room is barely lit by a dirty lightbulb on the ceiling, but you see straw and bones, scattered everywhere.

The dirty lightbulb gives an eerie half-light, leaving much of the disgusting chunks of organic matter to the imagination. The stone floor is littered with old, greyish straw. The sickeningly sweet smell makes you gag.

A bluish metal door leads westwards back up the stairs. It's engraved with weird symbols.

Something is moving in the shadows. It seems to be the source of the fishy smell.
action: You examine something
response: Thankfully, it's half-hidden in the shadows. You can only make out a malformed, scaly head, abnormally huge, soulless black fish eye above teeth, yellow and sharp. It shuffles around slowly in the shadows, as if hurt or weak. It seems to move on all fours, though you occasionally glimpse something that seems to be the worst - a human foot on a scrawny leg, its toes webbed and scaly.
action: You talk to something
response: You clear your throat and try to speak to the shuffling shadows. You manage a croaky: "Hello?" And from the shadows, something answers, a low, sickeningly throaty sound, in something that sounds like words.
action: You look around
response: The dirty lightbulb gives an eerie half-light, leaving much of the disgusting chunks of organic matter to the imagination. The stone floor is littered with old, greyish straw. The sickeningly sweet smell makes you gag.

A bluish metal door leads westwards back up the stairs. It's engraved with weird symbols.

Something is moving in the shadows. It seems to be the source of the fishy smell.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a flare gun
a keyring
a steel key
a crystal key
a bronze key
a dagger
a pill bottle
a cast (being worn)
action: You examine the straw
response: Rotten straw.
action: Smell
response: The smell is a sickening mixture of rotten fish and nasty human odors - sweat, fear, blood, feces. It's disgustingly sweet, you can almost taste it in your mouth.
action: You go west
response: You are standing in a small recess. This small space feels old and inhospitable.

A bluish metal door leadseastwards into the cliffs. It's engraved with weird symbols.

There is a trapdoor in the ceiling.
action: Up
response: This circular room is dominated by the red brickwork and the circular stairs leading upwards, rusty metal like the door. The furniture seems to be an afterthought.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: You examine the cupboard
response: In the cupboard is a wooden box.
action: You go to the west
response: You are standing in a small recess. This small space feels old and inhospitable.

A bluish metal door leadseastwards into the cliffs. It's engraved with weird symbols.

There is a trapdoor in the ceiling.

Laura Davidson lies here, twisted and dead.
action: Up
response: This circular room is dominated by the red brickwork and the circular stairs leading upwards, rusty metal like the door. The furniture seems to be an afterthought.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: Go south
response: The brickwork of the tower itself is dark like an underexposed black and white picture. It looms high above you, like a faceless giant standing eternal guard.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison. It even has an electric bell.
action: You go south
response: You're almost blind here. Every few moments this area is bathed in harsh white light, leaving shadowy after-images in your sight.
From here, you can see the lighthouse on top of the cliffs, maybe 200 meters further north, and hear the cannonading waves against their base, deep and old, gnawing at the island.
There is a picnic table, a few steps from the path, and someone is sitting there, head on his hands.
action: You pull the corpse
response: It is fixed in place.
action: Kiss corpse
response: You blink the thought away. This storm sure is putting weird ideas in your head.
action: Cut corpse
response: Cutting that up would achieve little.
action: Shoot flare
response: (with the flare gun)
Might be a good way to alert the authorities. But you don't think it would be seen in this hellish weather, near the big lighthouse light.

A raindrop hits you quite painfully in the eye. You have to stop for a moment and rub it, till the pain subsides.
action: Go downwards
response: This circular room is dominated by the red brickwork and the circular stairs leading upwards, rusty metal like the door. The furniture seems to be an afterthought.

The stainless steel entrance door looks modern in comparison.

There is a trapdoor in the floor.

There is an antique wooden cupboard in the corner.
action: Go southeast
response: You have to tell the authorities. About that thing you found in the cellar. About Mrs. Davidson. Let them find out what the hell happened here. Your broken arm begins to hurt. 12 kilometers is a long way. You look back towards the lighthouse. It's silently waiting to spoil its dark secrets at the world.
action: Go south
response: No. You've come this far.
action: You examine laura
response: You can't bring yourself to look at her for long. Her eyes are open, a horrifying expression of surprise in them. Her body looks twisted and broken, a stray lock of hair has fallen into her face, given her an even more vulnerable expression.
action: You shoot something
response: (with the flare gun)
You aim a shaking arm at the shape in the shadows. You have never fired a gun before, but you're pretty sure how this works. You close your eyes and fire. The flare gun melts to a heap and you drop it reflexively.
The whole room lights up for a moment as the flare sizzles towards
the thing in the shadows, raining sparks on the stone floor. It hits and immediately the whole creature has caught fire. The screams are high-pitched, horrifyingly pure. Thankfully, it dies quickly.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: The dirty lightbulb gives an eerie half-light, leaving much of the disgusting chunks of organic matter to the imagination. The stone floor is littered with old, greyish straw. The sickeningly sweet smell makes you gag.

The burnt carcass of something horrible lies in the corner.

A bluish metal door leads westwards back up the stairs. It's engraved with weird symbols.
action: You examine carcass
response: The beast has burnt beyond recognition. The smell has become worse, like a fish market mixed with burnt flesh.
action: You go south
response: As you step outside, you hear a roar behind you, audible above the thunderous storm - filled with fear and pain and rage. A behemoth, some unthinkable monstrosity from the lightless depths, has taken to land. Car-sized hand grab the lighthouse and shake it, screaming questions at it in a language worthy of giants. You fall to the ground and cover your ears, babbling in terror as the building starts to fall. You scramble back to your feet, clothes and face muddy, and start to run.
You run for a long time.