BSE
by Chris Smith (1996)
Genres: Espionage
Horror

Strange Things have been happening in Skebdale - and not just the BSE crisis, either. Rumours about devil-worshipping and all manner of strange happenings. Can you, as the unfortunate soul dispatched by the powers that be to investigate, unravel the mystery?

action: %
response: This is the job that all men in white coats dream of...a potential epidemic. The details were sparse but menacing - mysterious, unexplained deaths in the isolated Dales village of Skebdale. The authorities had no choice but to send you, their most experienced environmental health agent, to check things out. Unfortunately it looks more like a job for Bond than for Herriot...



Type 'help' for...er...help.
Type 'quotes on/off' to toggle box quotations, in case they obscure text.

Standard interpreter 1.0

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a faxed note
a remote control (which is closed)
action: You examine remote
response: A beautifully styled black handset with an invitingly red button in the middle. A small panel on the back allows you to change the battery.
action: You read the note
response: Your instructions from head office, scribbled untidily and faxed to you without regard for legibility. Peering at the note you can only make out a few words:

Reference: DCK 817S
Operation: Red-Chevette

Task: Agent 398-MUGWUG reports serious epidemic risk in Skebdale region of Yorkshire. Agent claims cross-over risk of BSE without beef consumption. Use operation codeword to gain contact, he will be lying low in disguise.

If possible also investigate allegations of widespread devil worship in Skebdale area. Agent reports possible links.
action: About you
response: As good-looking as ever.
action: You open the remote
response: You open the remote control, revealing a burnt-out battery.
action: You get the battery
response: Taken.
action: You examine the battery
response: Enter saved game to store: Ok.

A small, round, lithium watch-battery, charred almost out of recognition and presumably run-down.
action: You look at car
response: Dented from countless brushes with marauding cattle, your car looks three times its age. In fact it is fitted out with all mod cons, including an electric sunroof, in-car CD player, and remote locking system. (The latter comes in very useful when escaping from marauding cattle.)
action: You open gate
response: You open the wooden gate.
action: Go northeast
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west stands open. You really should shut it or anything could happen.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: You look around
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west stands open. You really should shut it or anything could happen.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The chickens wander out through the farm gate in their never-ending quest for nourishment.
action: Go southwest
response: An open wooden gate leads into a farmyard to the north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You shut the gate
response: You close the wooden gate.
action: You look around
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

There is a sudden flash of lightning and a distant rumble of thunder, warning of impending gloom.
action: You look around
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You climb gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.
action: You read the leaflet
response: The leaflet has been torn, mud-bespattered, and generally maltreated, and as such you can make out very little, but it seems to cover topics as wide ranging as sheep varieties, weather forecasting and the country code. It also includes a badly typeset advert for a badly typeset computer game called 'LSE' by Shirc Shimt.
action: You look up Sheep in the leaflet
response: Apparently there are three main varieties of sheep found in Skebdale: the hardy Skebdale Mountain Sheep, the fatter, more cautious, Skebdale-Milton Keynes Cross, and, finally, the newly-bred Fliglot. There are individual paragraphs on each breed.
action: You look up mountain in the leaflet
response: The Skebdale Mountain Sheep is an ancient breed, adapted to cope with grazing on steep moorland. It is world famous for its most unusual trait: the pair of legs on one side of any sheep are shorter than the pair on the other. This allows the sheep to walk around the mountain while remaining upright. There are two distinct strains: those with a left-leg bias, and those with a right-leg bias. Obviously interbreeding is impossible between the two strains of sheep due to simple geographical problems. This means that the two strains have drifted apart to form differing sub-species. The left-leg variety are the more common as they graze with the prevailing wind around the hills in Skebdale. The right-leg  variety, however, tend to end up grazing against the wind. This means they graze more slowly as they must cope with more air resistance, and they have hence become the rarer breed. To overcome these aerodynamic difficulties the right-leg variety developed closer, shorter, more tight-knit coats that allowed them to move faster. However, in order to counterbalance the resulting heat loss, they have evolved thin, concentrated layers of fat beneath their skin.

The Skebdale sheep has never spread further than a few hills in Skebdale as it is perfectly suited to the slope angle of Skebdale Pike. The leg-bias makes migration difficult and unrewarding, so the Skebdale Mountain Sheep remains an isolated and extraordinary specimen.
action: You look up Keynes in the leaflet
response: The Skebdale Milton-Keynes Cross was a result of cross-breeding in the mid-nineteenth century (before the invention of ethics). It created a sheep ideally suited to living on the flat flood plain of Skebdale Beck. The Milton is possibly the exact opposite of the Skebdale mountain sheep. It is a low slung sheep which hugs the ground for warmth and protection, it's layers of fat and wool insulating it from temperatures lower than 30 degrees. A farmer's dream, it grazes slowly and steadily, producing perfectly mown stretches of grass, and yielding high quantities of wool, milk, and fat. The famous cricket pitch in Skebdale was brought to such a high degree of perfection due to a groundsman's brilliant idea. By releasing several Miltons at the right time and angle around the pitch, he created a perfect overlapping hexagonal cut, something very rarely seen on cricket pitches. It was this flash of inspiration that originally brought fame to Skebdale and resulted in the booming tourist industry that now flourishes there.

The name of the sheep is not, in fact, derived from the town, but from the 19th century creators of the sheep, Mr. Milton and Mr. Keynes. (It is a little known fact that the town is actually named after the sheep, not the village of the same name. The developers were so impressed with the concept of a large, artificially created, easily manageable sheep, that they decided to apply exactly the same principles to town planning.)
action: You look up Fliglot in the leaflet
response: The Fliglot was an experimental sheep first released in early June 1966. Bred by the now infamous farmers-cum-genetic-engineers Liz and Ned Brown, of Fliglot Farm, Skebdale, it had a short black coat, two straight, sharp horns, prominent hooves and a pointed swishy tail. Comments at the time likened it to a goat rather than a sheep, but it quite happily bred with the other breeds in Skebdale to produce a small flock of Fliglots. However, they were extremely lazy and unproductive, and also quite violent. In the late 1970s they broke free of their field in South Skebdale. There was a brief spurt of mysterious disappearances in the village the same week, accompanied by heavy storms. At the end of the week the Fliglots returned to their pen and peace returned to the village. Since then the sheep have been regarded as a good luck omen and guarded against escape at all costs.
action: Go north
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

A bright yellow floppy sou'wester hangs from one of the pegs, clashing badly with the corridor's decor.
action: You get yellow
response: You take the sou'wester, revealing an electric socket underneath.
action: You look at the yellow
response: The sou'wester is dazzlingly yellow. Glowingly mustard-hued, no less.
action: You search it
response: You find nothing of interest.

The wind picks up and the sky darkens as black rain-clouds appear on the western horizon.
action: You wear the hat
response: You put on the sou'wester.
action: You wear yellow
response: You're already wearing that!
action: You look at the rack
response: A welly rack, made out of tough plastic-coated wire, screwed firmly into the wall about a foot from the floor.
action: Go east
response: Painted in an uninspiring shade of pastel cream-gunk, the farmhouse kitchen has evolved over time into a mixture of modern and ancient appliances jumbled against the walls. Decorated with stains ranging from champagne to tomato ketchup, the ceiling has obviously seen country life in all its glory.

A single rubber glove lies discarded upon the draining board.

You can also see a kettle here.
action: You get the glove
response: Taken.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little cold water. I shouldn't waste it: after all, there is a water shortage in Skebdale at the moment. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug. The kettle is currently switched off.
action: You examine the glove
response: You see nothing special about the rubber glove.

Black cumulonimbus clouds tower over Skebdale to the north-west.
action: Look around
response: Painted in an uninspiring shade of pastel cream-gunk, the farmhouse kitchen has evolved over time into a mixture of modern and ancient appliances jumbled against the walls. Decorated with stains ranging from champagne to tomato ketchup, the ceiling has obviously seen country life in all its glory.
action: Go west
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.
action: You put the kettle on the rack
response: You balance the kettle on the welly rack.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
a burnt-out battery
a faxed note
a remote control (which is open but empty)
action: You examine the socket
response: You see nothing special about the socket.

A shadow falls over Skebdale as the clouds sweep in...
action: You drop the battery
response: Dropped.
action: Go south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

Hailstones begin to fall to earth, melting on contact with the warm earth.
action: You open gate
response: You open the wooden gate.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: Go northeast
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west stands open. You really should shut it or anything could happen.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, bounces crazily around beneath the force of the gale.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west stands open. You really should shut it or anything could happen.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: Go southwest
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' rocks violently in the gale, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

An open wooden gate leads into a farmyard to the north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You enter the car
response: There's very little point getting in the car - you've got a job to do! But you might like to have a look in the boot...

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A garden fork has been rammed disrespectfully into a steaming compost heap in one corner of the garden.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying:
a leaflet
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
a faxed note
a remote control (which is open but empty)

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The owner of the house looks out at you, suspiciously.
action: You look at the owner
response: He never bothers to prosecute trespassers: he has far better methods.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The farmer taps firmly on the window and shouts something unintelligible.
action: Wear glove
response: You try and pull the glove on, but it is too small for either of your well-built hands.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

There is a creak as the window eases open and a rifle barrel sneaks through the crack.
action: Look around
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A garden fork has been rammed disrespectfully into a steaming compost heap in one corner of the garden.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The farmer shouts "Get out of my garden or tha'll get what thee deserve!"
action: You get the fork
response: Taken.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"I'll count to four!" he shouts.
action: You take fork
response: You already have that.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"One..."
action: Go east
response: You can't get inside the house.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Two..."
action: You go north
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' rocks violently in the gale, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

An open wooden gate leads into a farmyard to the north-east.

The chickens are scattered across the road, sounding out every last nook and cranny for nourishment. You had better get them back into the farmyard before they're run over by a bus full of ramblers.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You look in the car
response: The inside of your own car is familiar to you already.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
A bus sweeps down the dale like a steel monster, carrying a consignment of little old ladies towards the Vale of York. The chickens are helpless before the harbinger of death. All that remains are a few brown feathers, slowly drifting to earth...

Suddenly the flying squad is upon you. Unmarked cars screech to a halt at your feet, amphibious vehicles roll up, dripping slime, from the mere, sending ducks flapping into the air, and Apache helicopters swoop down from the Pike, missiles trained on your slightest movement. You are arrested, tried, found guilty of leaving a gate wrongfully open and locked up in Broadmoor for an indefinite period of time decided by some fascist Tory minister in the Home Office. In short, you are well out of it.

This is the job that all men in white coats dream of...a potential epidemic. The details were sparse but menacing - mysterious, unexplained deaths in the isolated Dales village of Skebdale. The authorities had no choice but to send you, their most experienced environmental health agent, to check things out. Unfortunately it looks more like a job for Bond than for Herriot...



Type 'help' for...er...help.
Type 'quotes on/off' to toggle box quotations, in case they obscure text.

Standard interpreter 1.0

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You look in car
response: The inside of your own car is familiar to you already.
action: You open the boot
response: It seems to be locked.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a faxed note
a remote control (which is closed)
action: You examine remote
response: A beautifully styled black handset with an invitingly red button in the middle. A small panel on the back allows you to change the battery.
action: You open panel
response: You open the remote control, revealing a burnt-out battery.
action: You take the battery
response: Taken.
action: You look at the battery
response: A small, round, lithium watch-battery, charred almost out of recognition and presumably run-down.
action: You go north
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.
action: Examine tom
response: A hunched old man in a tweed jacket and flat cap, smoking his pipe and supping his pint.
action: You examine Harry
response: A hunched old man in a tweed jacket and almost flat cap, smoking his pint and supping his pipe.
action: You ask Harry about the beer
response: "It's Sikstons' lad. 'Cheap, Cheerful, and Best Served Chilled.' If tha' want a pint, go and tek one, as the barman's not around."
action: You ask Harry about the cows
response: "You'll have to ask Tom about that, lad."
action: You ask Tom about the cows
response: There is a sudden flash of lightning and a distant rumble of thunder, warning of impending gloom.
"Aye lad, I can tell thee something about cows."
action: You ask Tom about the cows
response: "They can be big or small, depending which ones tha' look at," Tom explains excitedly.
action: You ask Tom about the cows
response: "And they're black an' white," says Dick, adding, by way of explanation, "and sometimes brown."
action: You ask Tom about cows
response: "Aye lad, I can tell thee something about cows."
action: You ask Dick about the cows
response: "You'll have to ask Tom about that, lad."
"They can be big or small, depending which ones tha' look at," Tom explains excitedly.
action: You ask Dick about Sheep
response: "I've no idea what tha' mean, lad."
"And they're black an' white," says Dick, adding, by way of explanation, "and sometimes brown."
action: You ask Tom about the devil
response: "Now then, you'd have to be asking Old Harry about that, wouldn't you?" chuckles Tom.
action: You ask Harry about devil
response: "There's more to things to say about him than there are men in this pub," advises Old Harry sagely.
action: You ask Harry about the devil
response: "But remember lad, as this is the only advice I'll give thee." He summons himself for the revelation."Although it may sound clich?d," he whispers, "Old Nick can never change the colour of his eyes, even if he's staring thee in the face."
action: You ask Tom about the bse
response: "You'll have to ask Dick about that, lad."
"Only a fool would mess with him," he continues, "and don't I just know it."
action: You ask Dick about the bse
response: "Oh aye, I know what tha' mean, lad."
"But remember lad, as this is the only advice I'll give thee." He summons himself for the revelation."Although it may sound clich?d," he whispers, "Old Nick can never change the colour of his eyes, even if he's staring thee in the face."
action: You ask Dick about the bse
response: "You mean destruction of nerve cells by rogue prion proteins leading to gradual deterioration of the brain and nervous system," says Dick quickly.
action: You ask Dick about the bse
response: "Was that what tha' wanted to know, lad? Them scientists call it Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, but we call it Old 'arry's Game. I tell thee lad, its the devil behind them there mad cows an' I don't mean Jacques Santer."
action: You ask Dick about the bse
response: The wind picks up and the sky darkens as black rain-clouds appear on the western horizon.
"Oh aye, I know what tha' mean, lad."
action: You wait awhile
response: Time passes.
"You mean destruction of nerve cells by rogue prion proteins leading to gradual deterioration of the brain and nervous system," says Dick quickly.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
"Was that what tha' wanted to know, lad? Them scientists call it Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, but we call it Old 'arry's Game. I tell thee lad, its the devil behind them there mad cows an' I don't mean Jacques Santer."
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: You leave
response: You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.
action: Go southeast
response: A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You open gate
response: You open the wooden gate.
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A crumpled leaflet, presumably discarded by a passing tourist, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: You examine the chickens
response: A group of ordinary farmyard chickens, including the obligatory cockerel with show-off red comb.

Black cumulonimbus clouds tower over Skebdale to the north-west.
action: You examine the clouds
response: They're big, black, and horrible.
action: Go east
response: Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: You look at the tractor
response: The tractor was presumably new once (most things were), but its paint has started to peel off, with bubbles of rust forming all over the bodywork. The makers mark on the side reads simply 'Case International'.
action: You climb the tractor
response: You climb up the tractor onto its roof.

A shadow falls over Skebdale as the clouds sweep in...
action: Look around
response: Barn (on the roof)
Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: Go downward
response: You'll have to get off the roof first.
action: You get down
response: That isn't available.

Hailstones begin to fall to earth, melting on contact with the warm earth.
action: Go downwards
response: You'll have to get off the roof first.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You leave
response: You'll have to say which compass direction to go in.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You stand
response: You get off the roof.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You get off
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You go north
response: You can't go that way.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You go northeast
response: You can't go that way.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You go to the north
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

A bright yellow floppy sou'wester hangs from one of the pegs, clashing badly with the corridor's decor.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You take the hat
response: You take the sou'wester, revealing an electric socket underneath.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You wear the hat
response: You put on the sou'wester.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You examine rack
response: A welly rack, made out of tough plastic-coated wire, screwed firmly into the wall about a foot from the floor.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: Go upwards
response: You don't want to disturb the inhabitants privacy too much, and besides, your scared of the dark.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You go east
response: Painted in an uninspiring shade of pastel cream-gunk, the farmhouse kitchen has evolved over time into a mixture of modern and ancient appliances jumbled against the walls. Decorated with stains ranging from champagne to tomato ketchup, the ceiling has obviously seen country life in all its glory.

A single rubber glove lies discarded upon the draining board.

You can also see a kettle here.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You take the glove
response: Taken.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little cold water. I shouldn't waste it: after all, there is a water shortage in Skebdale at the moment. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug. The kettle is currently switched off.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You examine the glove
response: You see nothing special about the rubber glove.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: Wear glove
response: You try and pull the glove on, but it is too small for either of your well-built hands.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You look at the ceiling
response: You see nothing special about the ceiling.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You go to the west
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: Go west
response: The farmhouse's lounge closely resembles a bomb site. An old sofa, covered in ragged blankets and thin cushions, is positioned opposite a large TV and a wide, open fireplace. The window, hung with clashing flowery curtains, faces out onto the farmyard. A door in the east wall leads out to the hall.

Laid out in front of the fireplace is a thick hearth-rug, covered in dog hair.

Curled up on the rug there is, of course, a dog.

The unusually violent storm suddenly dies and Skebdale is silent and peaceful once more.
action: You look at the dog
response: A sleek, speckled, black and white border collie. The archetypal sheepdog, it is laid out flat after a hard night spent sleeping.
action: You wake dog
response: The collie, moving like lightning, tries to bite your hand off, but you withdraw just in time.
action: You examine the hair
response: The rug is even thicker than an agriculture minister.
action: You take the rug
response: It's a bit to bulky to carry around with you.
action: You move the rug
response: The mat seems to be fixed down at one end.
action: You go east
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.
action: Go south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: Go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

A garden fork has been rammed disrespectfully into a steaming compost heap in one corner of the garden.
action: You search the bed
response: In amongst the bushes you find a garish pink toy pistol. You can well imagine that it would come in useful here - there is a direct shot straight across the street.

The owner of the house looks out at you, suspiciously.
action: You take the fork
response: You're carrying too many things already.

The farmer taps firmly on the window and shouts something unintelligible.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
a leaflet
a burnt-out battery
a faxed note
a remote control (which is open but empty)

There is a creak as the window eases open and a rifle barrel sneaks through the crack.
action: You put the battery in the remote
response: You put the burnt-out battery into the remote control.

The farmer shouts "Get out of my garden or tha'll get what thee deserve!"
action: You take the fork
response: Taken.

"I'll count to four!" he shouts.
action: You drop the note
response: You feel guilty about having despoiled the countryside. Litter-bugs only have a few chances before they are caught red-handed.

"One..."
action: You take the pistol
response: Taken.

"Two..."
action: You shoot the farmer with the pistol
response: You pull the trigger but nothing comes out.

"Three..."
action: Go north
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.
action: You drop the pistol
response: You feel guilty about having despoiled the countryside. Litter-bugs only have a few chances before they are caught red-handed.
action: You go north
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.
action: You go to the southeast
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

You can also see a toy pistol here.
action: Go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

You can also see a faxed note here.

"Three..."
action: You drop all
response: garden fork: Dropped.
rubber glove: Dropped.
leaflet: You feel guilty about having despoiled the countryside. Litter-bugs only have a few chances before they are caught red-handed. faxed note: You feel guilty about having despoiled the countryside. Litter-bugs only have a few chances before they are caught red-handed. remote control: Dropped.
action: You go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

You can also see a toy pistol here.

"I'll count to four!" he shouts.
action: You take all
response: rain clouds: It's hard to pick up an accumulation of water vapour half a mile above your head.
angry farmer: I don't suppose the angry farmer would care for that. toy pistol: Taken.
flower bed: That's hardly portable.

"One..."
action: Go east
response: You can't get inside the house.

"Two..."
action: You go north
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

A crumpled leaflet, heartlessly discarded by yourself just moments ago, blows back and forth in the gentle summer breeze.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

You can also see a remote control (in which is a burnt-out battery), a faxed note, a rubber glove and a garden fork here.
action: You take all
response: rain clouds: It's hard to pick up an accumulation of water vapour half a mile above your head.
wooden gate: That's fixed in place.
remote control: Taken.
faxed note: Taken.
leaflet: Taken.
rubber glove: Taken.
garden fork: You're carrying too many things already.
sign: That's hardly portable.
Volvo: It's a tad heavy to pick up.
boot: That's hardly portable.
action: You examine the fork
response: The six-pronged garden fork seems to be quite expensive. The handle is made of some sort of exotic, dark wood, and just below the triangular hand-hold there is a small silver plaque, inscribed simply with a single ornamented letter D.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a rubber glove
a leaflet
a faxed note
a remote control (which is open)
a burnt-out battery
a toy pistol
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You drop the glove
response: Dropped.
action: You look at the pistol
response: The pistol is an uninspiring shade of washed-out pink, but makes up for it with the battery-powered sound effects generator tagged on to the handle. Its pea-sized water tank is currently empty.
action: You open the generator
response: You open the sound-effects generator, revealing a watch battery.
action: You take the battery
response: Which do you mean, the burnt-out battery or the watch battery?
action: You take the watch battery
response: You're carrying too many things already.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a garden fork
a leaflet
a faxed note
a remote control (which is open)
a burnt-out battery
a toy pistol
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You drop the fork and the leaflet
response: garden fork: Dropped.
leaflet: Dropped.
action: You put the watch battery in the remote
response: You put the watch battery into the remote control.
action: Close remote
response: You close the remote control.
action: You take the fork and the leaflet
response: garden fork: Taken.
leaflet: Taken.
action: You show the fork to Dick
response: Old Dick is unimpressed.
action: You go to the southeast
response: A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' swings in the sunshine, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

You can also see a rubber glove here.
action: Unlock Volvo
response: What do you want to unlock the Volvo with?
action: You examine remote
response: A beautifully styled black handset with an invitingly red button in the middle. A small panel on the back allows you to change the battery.
action: You open the car
response: You open the Volvo.
action: You get in Volvo
response: There's very little point getting in the car - you've got a job to do! But you might like to have a look in the boot...
action: You open the boot
response: You open the boot, revealing a briefcase, a white coat and a key ring.
action: You open the briefcase
response: It seems to be locked.
action: You unlock the briefcase with the keys
response: You unlock the briefcase.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a key ring
a leaflet
a garden fork
a faxed note
a remote control (which is closed)
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You put the leaflet and note and the remote in the briefcase
response: leaflet: Done.
faxed note: Done.
remote control: Done.
action: Wear coat
response: You put on the white coat.
action: You examine the coat
response: The statutory mantle worn by psychiatrists and mad laboratory technicians. It has two conveniently large pockets.
action: You look in the pockets
response: The white coat is empty.
action: Typed note
response: Operation: Red-Chevette
Agent: 667

You might find that this comes in useful, I've heard it's more potent than it looks.
action: You examine the jar
response: A small blank glass jar. It is full of a clear liquid.
action: You open the jar
response: You open the glass jar.
action: You drink liquid
response: You daren't risk drinking the unknown liquid. After all, it could be flat lemonade, and that would just be plain disgusting.
action: You close jar
response: You close the glass jar.
action: You look in the trunk
response: The boot is empty.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a white coat (being worn and empty)
a briefcase (which is open)
a remote control (which is closed)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a glass jar
a typed note
a key ring
a garden fork
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: Go north
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.

You can see a toy pistol and a burnt-out battery here.
action: You pour the liquid in the pistol
response: (first taking the glass jar)
You fill the pistol from the jar.
action: You ask Dick abouthe Red-Chevette
response: Old Dick winks and smiles at you. "I think this young man deserves some reward for his effort," he says. "'E's obviously an 'ard working young'un. 'Ere, have a can of Sikston's on me." He hands you an aluminium can and then turns back to his pint.
action: You examine the sikston'S
response: The sealed can declares itself as:

?SIKSTONS' EXTREMELY PECULIAR?
action: You open can
response: You yank sharply on the ring-pull which comes off easily in your hand. After a brief sub-second the over-enthusiastic widget kicks into action and froth and foam spurts from the can as if it were a volcano. In shock you drop the can and its remaining contents spill onto the floor.
action: Open beer
response: You yank sharply on the ring-pull which comes off easily in your hand. After a brief sub-second the over-enthusiastic widget kicks into action and froth and foam spurts from the can as if it were a volcano. In shock you drop the can and its remaining contents spill onto the floor.

There is a sudden flash of lightning and a distant rumble of thunder, warning of impending gloom.
action: You take the can
response: (putting the garden fork into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.

There is a sudden flash of lightning and a distant rumble of thunder, warning of impending gloom.
action: You shake the beer
response: You apply a shake equivalent to 6.4 on the Richter scale, but nothing happens.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: You are carrying:
a can of beer
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn and empty)
a briefcase (which is open)
a remote control (which is closed)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a key ring
a garden fork
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You put the beer in pocket
response: You put the can of beer into the white coat.

There is a sudden flash of lightning and a distant rumble of thunder, warning of impending gloom.
action: You put keys in the pocket
response: You put the key ring into the white coat.
action: You go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

"Two..."
action: You shoot the farmer with the pistol
response: The liquid squirts feebly towards the farmer who just gets even more angry.

"Three..."
action: You give the beer to farmer
response: (first taking the can of beer)
The farmer shouts several expletives and then shuts up.

"Three..."
action: You throw beer at the farmer
response: (first taking the can of beer)
(putting the garden fork into the briefcase to make room)
The farmer shouts several expletives and then shuts up.

"Three..."
action: You ask the farmer abouthe Red-Chevette
response: The farmer shouts several expletives and then shuts up.

"Three..."
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: You go north
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.
action: You go west
response: The farmhouse's lounge closely resembles a bomb site. An old sofa, covered in ragged blankets and thin cushions, is positioned opposite a large TV and a wide, open fireplace. The window, hung with clashing flowery curtains, faces out onto the farmyard. A door in the east wall leads out to the hall.

Laid out in front of the fireplace is a thick hearth-rug, covered in dog hair.

Curled up on the rug there is, of course, a dog.
action: You shoot the dog with the pistol
response: The liquid squirts feebly out of the pistol and into the ground.

The wind picks up and the sky darkens as black rain-clouds appear on the western horizon.
action: You open the jar
response: You open the glass jar.

The wind picks up and the sky darkens as black rain-clouds appear on the western horizon.
action: You open the remote
response: You open the remote control, revealing a watch battery.
action: You take the watch battery
response: (putting the garden fork into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.
action: You put the battery in the generator
response: You put the watch battery into the sound-effects generator.
action: Close generator
response: You close the sound-effects generator.
action: You shoot the dog with the pistol
response: The liquid squirts feebly out of the pistol and into the ground.
action: Examine generator
response: The generator consists of a panel on the gun's handle. It has a small battery compartment and three buttons - blue, green, and yellow.
action: Button
response: Woof! Woof! Woof!

The collie gets very excited and jumps up from the mat, leaping in a canine frenzy at the gun.
action: You move the rug
response: The mat seems to be fixed down at one end.

Black cumulonimbus clouds tower over Skebdale to the north-west.
action: You roll the rug
response: You roll up the hearth-rug, revealing beneath a small wooden trapdoor.
action: You take the fork
response: Taken.

The border collie pads off towards the farm hallway.
action: You open trap with the fork
response: The prongs of the fork fit perfectly into the holes and you easily manage to lever the trapdoor open.
action: Go downwards
response: This low, earth-hewn passage is cramped and dirty. Held up by crude wooden props, it looks none too stable. The tunnel is quite short, only about twenty metres in length. At the south-east end is the short stone staircase which leads up to the trapdoor, while to the north-west is an enormous door.

The enormous door is more firmly shut than the main air-lock on Space Shuttle Paranoia.
action: You open door
response: It seems to be locked.
action: You look at the door
response: An enormous, circular door, no doubt made of some extremely unlikely space age metal which can only be cut using a knife blade forged in the core of a red giant. Or something like that. There, right in the centre, is one of those lock-cum-handle thingummybobs that you get on all good bank vaults.
action: You turn the handle
response: (the dial)
Which way?
action: You examine the handle
response: (the dial)
The lock is the traditional turning type, with eight letters arranged evenly around the dial:

D  |  Z
\|/
N+S
/|\
I  |  L
|
W

There is a small black button underneath the uppermost letter.
action: You open the jar
response: It's already open.
action: You shoot the handle with the pistol
response: (the dial with the toy pistol)
The liquid squirts feebly out of the pistol and into the ground.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a garden fork
a rubber glove
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn)
a key ring
a can of beer
a briefcase (which is open)
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You examine leaflet
response: The leaflet has been torn, mud-bespattered, and generally maltreated, and as such you can make out very little, but it seems to cover topics as wide ranging as sheep varieties, weather forecasting and the country code. It also includes a badly typeset advert for a badly typeset computer game called 'LSE' by Shirc Shimt.
action: You open door
response: It seems to be locked.
action: You look up the country code in the leaflet
response: The main points of the country code are, according to the leaflet:

- Guard against all risk of fire.
- Leave gates as you find them.
- Keep dogs under close control.
- Keep to public footpaths.
- Take your litter home.
- Make no unnecessary noise.

The leaflet goes on to explain how anyone breaking the code in Skebdale faces punishment by the Skebdale flying squad, an elite group of park wardens who punish criminals quickly and efficiently.
action: You turn dial left
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

E  |  S
\|/
D+L
/|\
N  |  W
|
I
action: You look at the handle
response: (the dial)
The lock is the traditional turning type, with eight letters arranged evenly around the dial:

E  |  S
\|/
D+L
/|\
N  |  W
|
I

There is a small black button underneath the uppermost letter.
action: You turn the handle right
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

N  |  E
\|/
I+Z
/|\
W  |  S
|
L
action: You keep going
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

I  |  D
\|/
W+E
/|\
L  |  Z
|
S
action: You turn the handle right
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

W  |  N
\|/
L+D
/|\
S  |  E
|
Z
action: You continue
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

L  |  I
\|/
S+N
/|\
Z  |  D
|
E
action: You keep going
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

S  |  W
\|/
Z+I
/|\
E  |  N
|
D
action: You turn the handle right
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

Z  |  L
\|/
E+W
/|\
D  |  I
|
N
action: You turn the handle right
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

E  |  S
\|/
D+L
/|\
N  |  W
|
I
action: Keep going
response: (the dial right)
You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

D  |  Z
\|/
N+S
/|\
I  |  L
|
W
action: Go upwards
response: The farmhouse's lounge closely resembles a bomb site. An old sofa, covered in ragged blankets and thin cushions, is positioned opposite a large TV and a wide, open fireplace. The window, hung with clashing flowery curtains, faces out onto the farmyard. A door in the east wall leads out to the hall.

A dark staircase leads downwards from the open trapdoor.

A rolled up rug lies on the floor next to the fireplace.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You go south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The unusually violent storm suddenly dies and Skebdale is silent and peaceful once more.
action: You go to the north
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.

You can see a burnt-out battery here.
action: R.
response: What do you want to drop?
action: Go east
response: Painted in an uninspiring shade of pastel cream-gunk, the farmhouse kitchen has evolved over time into a mixture of modern and ancient appliances jumbled against the walls. Decorated with stains ranging from champagne to tomato ketchup, the ceiling has obviously seen country life in all its glory.

You can see a kettle here.
action: You take the kettle
response: (putting the toy pistol into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.
action: You plug in the kettle
response: You'll have to put the kettle down first.
action: You plug in the kettle
response: You plug the kettle in.
action: You turn on the kettle
response: You switch the kettle on. A little red light above the switch jumps into life to show you it is working.
action: You look at the jar
response: A small blank glass jar. It is half full of a clear liquid.
action: You open the jar
response: It's already open.
action: You shoot the pistol into the jar
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
You fire the contents of the pistol back into the jar.
action: You close jar
response: You close the glass jar.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little cold water. I shouldn't waste it: after all, there is a water shortage in Skebdale at the moment. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug. The kettle is currently switched on.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little warm water, and is gently steaming. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug.
The kettle is currently switched on.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little hot water, and is steaming furiously. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug.
The kettle is currently switched on.
action: You examine the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little boiling water, and is still steaming. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug.
The kettle is currently switched on.
The kettle, having boiled, switches itself off, and the red indicator light dies.
action: You pour the water in the pistol
response: Which do you mean, the kettle or the steam?
action: You pour the kettle in pistol
response: (first taking the kettle)
Although made of plastic, the kettle is still far too hot to pick up.
action: You unplug the kettle
response: You unplug the kettle.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a toy pistol
a garden fork
a rubber glove
a glass jar
a white coat (being worn)
a key ring
a can of beer
a briefcase (which is open)
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: Wear glove
response: You try and pull the glove on, but it is too small for either of your well-built hands.
action: You put the glove on the kettle
response: That would achieve little.
action: You examine the steam
response: Hot, wet, and steamy.
action: You fill the pistol from the kettle
response: (first taking the kettle)
(putting the glass jar into the briefcase to make room)
You fill the pistol with water.
action: You take the kettle
response: You already have that.
action: You look at the kettle
response: A blue plastic electric kettle, which contains a little hot water, and is steaming furiously. Its black power wire leads to a white three-pin plug.
The kettle is currently switched off.
action: Go south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The border collie trots towards you from the main barn.
action: You examine farmer
response: He never bothers to prosecute trespassers: he has far better methods.

"Three..."
action: You throw the jar at the farmer
response: (first taking the glass jar)
(putting the rubber glove into the briefcase to make room)
The farmer shouts several expletives and then shuts up.

"Three..."
action: You go to the east
response: You can't get inside the house.

"Three..."
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: Go southwest
response: You can't, since the wooden gate is in the way.

The border collie trots towards you from the farm hallway.
action: Go east
response: Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: You open the tractor
response: It seems to be locked.

The border collie trots towards you from the farmyard.
action: You look at the collie
response: A sleek, speckled, black and white border collie.
action: You look at the ledge
response: A stack of hay, towering vertically upwards. Half-way up, just out of reach, there is a small ledge.
action: You climb the hay
response: The haystack is far too steep to climb unaided. However, you can almost, but not quite, reach a tiny ledge about a metre above your head.

The border collie pads off towards the farmyard.
action: You climb the ledge
response: The haystack is far too steep to climb unaided. However, you can almost, but not quite, reach a tiny ledge about a metre above your head.
action: You climb the tractor
response: You climb up the tractor onto its roof.
action: You climb the ledge
response: By standing on the tractor you can just reach the ledge and haul yourself over the brink...

You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.
action: You examine the ladder
response: A strong rope ladder, twined around several bales on the edge of the ledge.
action: You unfurl the ladder
response: You unroll the ladder which just reaches the ground.
action: You drop all
response: briefcase: Dropped.
rubber glove: Dropped.
garden fork: Dropped.
kettle: Dropped.
toy pistol: Dropped.
action: Go west
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.
action: You go west
response: A fallen hay bale blocks your way. I'm afraid this is a dead end.
action: Go upward
response: I'd get out of here if I was you.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.

You can also see a toy pistol, a kettle, a garden fork, a rubber glove and a briefcase (in which are a glass jar, a remote control (which is empty), a faxed note, a leaflet and a typed note) here.
action: Search
response: What do you want to search?
action: Go upward
response: I'd get out of here if I was you.
action: You jump
response: You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
action: You climb
response: What do you want to climb?
action: Go downwards
response: You climb skilfully down the ladder.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a white coat (being worn)
a key ring
a can of beer
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You examine the key ring
response: Your key fob takes the form of a small model bull with a disproportionately large ring through its nose. Wound around the ring are your house and car keys, and a few other useful items.
action: Up
response: You climb skilfully up the ladder.

You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.

You can also see a toy pistol, a kettle, a garden fork, a rubber glove and a briefcase (in which are a glass jar, a remote control (which is empty), a faxed note, a leaflet and a typed note) here.
action: You get all
response: rope ladder: That's fixed in place.
briefcase: Taken.
rubber glove: Taken.
garden fork: Taken.
kettle: Taken.
toy pistol: Taken.
action: You put all in the pockets
response: briefcase: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
rubber glove: Done.
garden fork: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
kettle: Done.
toy pistol: Done.
action: You get all from the briefcase
response: glass jar: Removed.
remote control: Removed.
faxed note: Removed.
leaflet: (putting the garden fork into the briefcase to make room) Removed.
typed note: (putting the glass jar into the briefcase to make room) Removed.
action: You put all in the pockets
response: briefcase: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
typed note: Done.
leaflet: Done.
faxed note: Done.
remote control: Done.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a briefcase (which is open)
a glass jar
a garden fork
a white coat (being worn)
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a kettle
a rubber glove
a key ring
a can of beer
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You put it in the pockets
response: Taken.

You put the glass jar into the white coat.
action: Go downward
response: You climb skilfully down the ladder.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

A shadow falls over Skebdale as the clouds sweep in...
action: Smell the hay
response: The barn is filled with the dry, dusty scent of parched hay.

Hailstones begin to fall to earth, melting on contact with the warm earth.
action: You look at the haystack
response: A stack of hay, towering vertically upwards. Half-way up, just out of reach, there is a small ledge.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You unlock tractor with the key ring
response: (first taking the key ring)
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You look in the tractor
response: You can't see inside, since it is closed.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.

The border collie trots towards you from the farmyard.
action: You open tractor with the fork
response: (first taking the garden fork)
That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You unlock the tractor with the key
response: That doesn't seem to fit the lock.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Go west
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You read the devil in the leaflet
response: Devil worship in Skebdale? How could you ever even imagine that it could take place?

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You examine the beer
response: The sealed can declares itself as:

?SIKSTONS' EXTREMELY PECULIAR?

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The border collie trots towards you from the main barn.
action: Look around
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The sheepdog is huddled safely beneath a rusting muckspreader, sheltered from the storm.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Open beer
response: You yank sharply on the ring-pull which comes off easily in your hand. After a brief sub-second the over-enthusiastic widget kicks into action and froth and foam spurts from the can as if it were a volcano. In shock you drop the can and its remaining contents spill onto the floor.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' rocks violently in the gale, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: You go north
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.

You can see a burnt-out battery here.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You ask Tom about the beer
response: "It's Sikstons' lad. 'Cheap, Cheerful, and Best Served Chilled.' If tha' want a pint, go and tek one, as the barman's not around."

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You go to the south
response: You can't go that way.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: Open beer
response: You yank sharply on the ring-pull which comes off easily in your hand. After a brief sub-second the over-enthusiastic widget kicks into action and froth and foam spurts from the can as if it were a volcano. In shock you drop the can and its remaining contents spill onto the floor.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You look around
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.

You can see an empty can of beer and a burnt-out battery here.

The storm continues at full force outside.
action: You look in the can
response: You find nothing of interest.

The unusually violent storm suddenly dies and Skebdale is silent and peaceful once more.
action: You get the key
response: You already have that.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a garden fork
a key ring
a briefcase (which is open but empty)
a white coat (being worn)
a glass jar
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a kettle
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You shake it
response: You shake the can and something falls out onto the floor.
action: Look around
response: This single-roomed inn is dominated by a long bar, topped with perfectly polished wood. The shelves behind the bar are stacked to breaking point with sparkling glasses and inviting bottles. A single beer pump protrudes forlornly from the bar at one end, but it is, unfortunately, un-manned, so you will have to cope without a drink. A well-oiled wooden door leads south-east into the street.

Old Tom, Old Dick, and Old Harry sit around the beer pump, whispering conspiratorially.

You can see a brass key and a burnt-out battery here.
action: You get the key
response: (the brass key)
Taken.
action: You go east
response: Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

The border collie pads off towards the farmyard.
action: Unlock tractor
response: What do you want to unlock the tractor with?
action: Key
response: Which do you mean, the brass key or the key ring?
action: Brass
response: You unlock the tractor.

The border collie trots towards you from the farmyard.
action: You open the tractor
response: You open the tractor, revealing a fairly ordinary cockpit with controls and an ignition.
action: You enter it
response: You get into the tractor.
action: Look around
response: Barn (in the tractor)
Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.
action: You go east
response: You'll have to get out of the tractor first.
action: Search tractor
response: You perform a fingertip search of the tractor cockpit, discovering a sleek, beige envelope underneath the steering column.

The border collie pads off towards the farmyard.
action: You get it
response: (putting the key ring into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
an envelope
a brass key
an empty can of beer
a garden fork
a briefcase (which is open)
a key ring
a white coat (being worn)
a glass jar
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a kettle
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: Go outside
response: You get out of the tractor.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: Go north
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

The collie paces restlessly up and down the hall.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.
action: You get it
response: (putting the garden fork into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.
action: You put the kettle on the rack
response: You balance the kettle on the welly rack.
action: You plug in the kettle
response: You plug the kettle in.

The border collie pads off towards the farmyard.
action: You turn it on
response: You switch the kettle on. A little red light above the switch jumps into life to show you it is working.
action: You put the envelope in the steam
response: You hold the envelope in the flow of steam from the kettle, and the glue melts away. A slip of card falls out onto the floor.
action: You read the card
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets
action: You get the kettle
response: Although made of plastic, the kettle is still far too hot to pick up. The kettle, having boiled, switches itself off, and the red indicator light dies.
action: You get the kettle
response: Although made of plastic, the kettle is still far too hot to pick up.
action: Go west
response: The farmhouse's lounge closely resembles a bomb site. An old sofa, covered in ragged blankets and thin cushions, is positioned opposite a large TV and a wide, open fireplace. The window, hung with clashing flowery curtains, faces out onto the farmyard. A door in the east wall leads out to the hall.

A dark staircase leads downwards from the open trapdoor.

A rolled up rug lies on the floor next to the fireplace.
action: You turn the dial right
response: You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

N  |  E
\|/
I+Z
/|\
W  |  S
|
L
action: You turn dial left
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

D  |  Z
\|/
N+S
/|\
I  |  L
|
W
action: You turn the dial right
response: You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

I  |  D
\|/
W+E
/|\
L  |  Z
|
S
action: Keep going
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

N  |  E
\|/
I+Z
/|\
W  |  S
|
L

You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

D  |  Z
\|/
N+S
/|\
I  |  L
|
W

You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

E  |  S
\|/
D+L
/|\
N  |  W
|
I
action: Keep going
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

Z  |  L
\|/
E+W
/|\
D  |  I
|
N

You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

S  |  W
\|/
Z+I
/|\
E  |  N
|
D

You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

L  |  I
\|/
S+N
/|\
Z  |  D
|
E

You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

W  |  N
\|/
L+D
/|\
S  |  E
|
Z
action: You continue
response: You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

L  |  I
\|/
S+N
/|\
Z  |  D
|
E

You turn the dial one notch clockwise.

S  |  W
\|/
Z+I
/|\
E  |  N
|
D
action: You look around
response: This low, earth-hewn passage is cramped and dirty. Held up by crude wooden props, it looks none too stable. The tunnel is quite short, only about twenty metres in length. At the south-east end is the short stone staircase which leads up to the trapdoor, while to the north-west is an enormous door.

The enormous door hangs invitingly but threateningly open.
action: Go northwest
response: A shining white laboratory decked out with rows of pristine benches and tables. Shelves full of ridiculous sounding biochemicals line the walls. The room is windowless and lit only by fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling.

You can leave by the door to the south.

A wooden pinboard on one wall is covered in clippings from various respected publications.

Some sort of sci-fi gadget sits on the main lab bench.
action: You examine the gadget
response: You can't have a proper adventure game these days without some special sci-fi gadget. In this case it resembles a microwave oven. It also sports a row of LEDs so it can flash them back and forth as it speaks in its predictably sarcastic monotone. Whoever built this one was well au fait with current trends and even painted a smiley face on the speaker. Lovely.
The sci-fi gadget is currently switched off.
action: You turn the gadget on
response: "Request fingerprint recognition before computer access allowance." A small light-sensitive pad on the gadget flashes briefly and then goes dark again.
action: You look at pad
response: A dark grey light-sensing pad on one side of the gadget.
action: You get the gadget
response: That's fixed in place.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a postcard
an envelope
a brass key
an empty can of beer
a briefcase (which is open)
a garden fork
a key ring
a white coat (being worn)
a glass jar
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You look at the postcard
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets
action: Exit
response: This low, earth-hewn passage is cramped and dirty. Held up by crude wooden props, it looks none too stable. The tunnel is quite short, only about twenty metres in length. At the south-east end is the short stone staircase which leads up to the trapdoor, while to the north-west is an enormous door.

The enormous door hangs invitingly but threateningly open.
action: You examine the dial
response: The lock is the traditional turning type, with eight letters arranged evenly around the dial:

S  |  W
\|/
Z+I
/|\
E  |  N
|
D

There is a small black button underneath the uppermost letter.
action: You turn dial left
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

L  |  I
\|/
S+N
/|\
Z  |  D
|
E
action: You turn dial left
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

W  |  N
\|/
L+D
/|\
S  |  E
|
Z
action: You turn dial left
response: You turn the dial one notch anticlockwise.

I  |  D
\|/
W+E
/|\
L  |  Z
|
S
action: Go upward
response: The farmhouse's lounge closely resembles a bomb site. An old sofa, covered in ragged blankets and thin cushions, is positioned opposite a large TV and a wide, open fireplace. The window, hung with clashing flowery curtains, faces out onto the farmyard. A door in the east wall leads out to the hall.

A dark staircase leads downwards from the open trapdoor.

A rolled up rug lies on the floor next to the fireplace.

A few hailstones, the vanguard of the storm, patter gently on the windows.
action: You go east
response: The farm's hallway serves its purpose well. In other words, its the way in. It leads up to a dark staircase, the northern end flanked by two low, wooden doorframes. Along the west wall, there is a row of three or four wooden pegs, underneath which is a delapidated welly rack.

Built into the west wall under the pegs is an electric socket.

On the welly rack is a kettle.
action: You get the kettle
response: You unplug the kettle. (putting the empty can of beer into the briefcase to make room)
Taken.

The full brunt of the weather batters against the doors and windows, making you glad that you are safe inside.
action: You go to the south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

The sheepdog lies on the sun-warmed concrete, panting gently.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: You go to the east
response: Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

Sheets of hail lash down from the heavens, driven by a roaring westerly.
action: Go upward
response: You climb skilfully up the ladder.

You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.
action: You put all in the pockets
response: briefcase: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
kettle: Done.
postcard: Done.
envelope: Done.
brass key: Done.
action: Go southwest
response: You stumble from the labyrinthine passages into...

This room is Gothic horror at its best. Dry, wooden torches burn brightly in their rusty iron brackets, sending a flickering orange light flashing around the high, vaulted stone rafters and dull granite flagstones. The walls are daubed with unsightly scenes of scarlet terror and cruelty, and, at the centre of this hexagonal cathedral of doom, a gigantic inverted cross hangs in space, suspended by a criss-crossing web of thin, spider-like ropes which lead ever upwards into the enormous arched roof. Sinister shadows are cast onto the floor from the grotesque, twisted statuettes which stand on their dark pedestals, seeming to writhe in the torchlight. Where the hell is this place...

Any moment now you expect a nice man with horns and hooves to jump from the shadows and discuss the afterlife, but, fortunately, there seem to be none of those in today.

Instead, a small note has been attached to the bottom of the cross with a drawing pin.

From the far side of the chamber, high up on one wall, an enormous, abstract black and red pictogram stares down at you.
action: You look at the pictogram
response: It depicts simply the head of a cow - but no ordinary heifer. Its ears are long and pointed, its eyes narrow, and its nostrils wide and flaring-red. The mouth is half-open in a Satanic grin, exposing double rows of carnivorous teeth. You dread to look for fear of being ensnared in the deep, swirling, whirling eyes...
action: You read the note
response: (the note)
You can't read it from down on the floor.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: You look at Cross
response: It's over-riding feature is that it is the wrong way up. However, just for the record, it is made from two gigantic oak beams held together by two enormously thick selotape straps.
action: Climb cross
response: I don't think much is to be achieved by that.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: You wait
response: Time passes.
An irresistible surge of terror rises within you as the face of the pictogram twists and seems to force its way out of the wall. You try to shut your eyes to it, but your only option seems to be flight. You have little time to escape as the power of the evil has almost rooted you to the spot.
action: You wait for a while
response: Time passes.
The primitive drawing continues to wrench itself into reality in a series of horrific jerks and contortions.
action: Continue
response: Time passes.
As the scene comes to life before you a wind whips around the chamber, statues are blown over and torches threaten to go out. The evil figure emerging from the wall roars in anger at your intrusion.
action: Keep going
response: Time passes.
The figure of a cow, decked in blood and gore, begins to take shape from the writhing pictogram and screams a dire warning. "Access Denied! Access Denied! Unauthorised personnel in building!" You start to petrify with fear.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
An involuntary scream rips your throat open as the devilish figure pops from the canvas like a satanical morph. "Trespassers will be prosecuted....." screams the phantom of the pit as it totters about on its hind-legs, wreathed in smoke and flames. These demonic vassals never were very good at co-ordination, were they?
action: You kill the cow
response: Violence isn't the answer to this one.
"I will destroy you!!!" The demon raises a hoof and a ball of fiery flame (isn't it all) cannons towards you. You are engulfed utterly, perish utterly, and generally cease to exist.
action: Go southwest
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You stumble from the labyrinthine passages into...

This room is Gothic horror at its best. Dry, wooden torches burn brightly in their rusty iron brackets, sending a flickering orange light flashing around the high, vaulted stone rafters and dull granite flagstones. The walls are daubed with unsightly scenes of scarlet terror and cruelty, and, at the centre of this hexagonal cathedral of doom, a gigantic inverted cross hangs in space, suspended by a criss-crossing web of thin, spider-like ropes which lead ever upwards into the enormous arched roof. Sinister shadows are cast onto the floor from the grotesque, twisted statuettes which stand on their dark pedestals, seeming to writhe in the torchlight. Where the hell is this place...

Any moment now you expect a nice man with horns and hooves to jump from the shadows and discuss the afterlife, but, fortunately, there seem to be none of those in today.

Instead, a small note has been attached to the bottom of the cross with a drawing pin.

From the far side of the chamber, high up on one wall, an enormous, abstract black and red pictogram stares down at you.
action: You look at note
response: (the note)
You can't read it from down on the floor.
action: You look at Cross
response: It's over-riding feature is that it is the wrong way up. However, just for the record, it is made from two gigantic oak beams held together by two enormously thick selotape straps.
action: You pull Cross
response: You are unable to.
action: Climb cross
response: I don't think much is to be achieved by that.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: Pray
response: Nothing practical results from your prayer.
An irresistible surge of terror rises within you as the face of the pictogram twists and seems to force its way out of the wall. You try to shut your eyes to it, but your only option seems to be flight. You have little time to escape as the power of the evil has almost rooted you to the spot.
action: You get all
response: cross: That's hardly portable.
note: You can't reach the note from the floor.
pictogram: That's fixed in place.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a white coat (being worn)
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a kettle
a glass jar
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (providing light and being worn)
action: You shoot the pictogram with the pistol
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
The liquid squirts feebly towards the pictogram but has little effect upon it.
action: You throw the jar at the pictogram
response: (first taking the glass jar)
Futile.
action: You look at the postcard
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: Sleep
response: You aren't feeling especially drowsy.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: Look around
response: You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.

You can also see a briefcase (in which are an empty can of beer, a garden fork and a key ring) here.
action: You get all
response: briefcase: Taken.
rope ladder: That's fixed in place.
action: Go downward
response: You climb skilfully down the ladder.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Go east
response: The haystack is in the way!

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Go west
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The border collie trots towards you from the main barn.
action: You go southwest
response: You can't, since the wooden gate is in the way.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

The border collie pads off towards the farm hallway.
action: You climb the gate
response: You hop over the closed gate...

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' rocks violently in the gale, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Two..."
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Three..."
action: You wait
response: Time passes.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Four...!"
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
The farmer, having warned you quite enough, blasts you sky-high with his rifle.
action: Pray
response: Nothing practical results from your prayer.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
The farmer, having warned you quite enough, blasts you sky-high with his rifle.
action: You climb the gate
response: You climb skilfully down the ladder.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

You hop over the closed gate...

A winding country road threads its way between old stone cottages and barns. Daffodils and snowdrops spring from the grass verges, adding a dash of colour to the grey walls and roofs. To your north, the sign of 'The Green Calf' rocks violently in the gale, beckoning locals and tourists alike to pop in for a drink. There is a small garden to the south of the road which is attached, unsurprisingly, to a small house.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

A short gravel track leads up to a wooden gate to your north-east.

Your car, a battered blue Volvo estate, is slewed across the grass verge, two wheels in the ditch.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.
action: Go south
response: A beautiful Yorkshire garden, full of mouth-watering fruits such as parsnips, marrows and broccoli. This is more a vegetable garden than anything else, but the border beds have been liberally scattered with a variety of hardy perennials. To the east you can see a small unthreatening farmer's cottage.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Two..."
action: You examine farmer
response: He never bothers to prosecute trespassers: he has far better methods.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Three..."
action: You go east
response: You can't get inside the house.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Three..."
action: You ask farmer about the denzil
response: That's not something you need to refer to in the course of this game.

The farmer shouts several expletives and then shuts up.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Three..."
action: You look at postcard
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Three..."
action: You examine the bed
response: The odd prickly bush or two - you've never really found gardening interesting.

The storm continues to batter unrelenting upon Skebdale.

"Four...!"
action: Look around
response: This room is Gothic horror at its best. Dry, wooden torches burn brightly in their rusty iron brackets, sending a flickering orange light flashing around the high, vaulted stone rafters and dull granite flagstones. The walls are daubed with unsightly scenes of scarlet terror and cruelty, and, at the centre of this hexagonal cathedral of doom, a gigantic inverted cross hangs in space, suspended by a criss-crossing web of thin, spider-like ropes which lead ever upwards into the enormous arched roof. Sinister shadows are cast onto the floor from the grotesque, twisted statuettes which stand on their dark pedestals, seeming to writhe in the torchlight. Where the hell is this place...

Any moment now you expect a nice man with horns and hooves to jump from the shadows and discuss the afterlife, but, fortunately, there seem to be none of those in today.

Instead, a small note has been attached to the bottom of the cross with a drawing pin.

From the far side of the chamber, high up on one wall, an enormous, abstract black and red pictogram stares down at you.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: You shoot the pictogram with the pistol
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
The liquid squirts feebly towards the pictogram but has little effect upon it.
The primitive drawing continues to wrench itself into reality in a series of horrific jerks and contortions.
action: You examine the cow
response: It depicts simply the head of a cow - but no ordinary heifer. Its ears are long and pointed, its eyes narrow, and its nostrils wide and flaring-red. The mouth is half-open in a Satanic grin, exposing double rows of carnivorous teeth. You dread to look for fear of being ensnared in the deep, swirling, whirling eyes...
The figure of a cow, decked in blood and gore, begins to take shape from the writhing pictogram and screams a dire warning. "Access Denied! Access Denied! Unauthorised personnel in building!" You start to petrify with fear.
action: You shoot the cow with the pistol
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
The liquid squirts feebly towards the pictogram but has little effect upon it.
An involuntary scream rips your throat open as the devilish figure pops from the canvas like a satanical morph. "Trespassers will be prosecuted....." screams the phantom of the pit as it totters about on its hind-legs, wreathed in smoke and flames. These demonic vassals never were very good at co-ordination, were they?
action: You shoot Cross with the pistol
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
You miss your target by more than a metre.
"I will destroy you!!!" The demon raises a hoof and a ball of fiery flame (isn't it all) cannons towards you. You are engulfed utterly, perish utterly, and generally cease to exist.
action: You shoot the note with the pistol
response: (the note with the toy pistol)
(first taking the toy pistol)
You miss your target by more than a metre.
"I will destroy you!!!" The demon raises a hoof and a ball of fiery flame (isn't it all) cannons towards you. You are engulfed utterly, perish utterly, and generally cease to exist.
action: You pour the liquid in the glove
response: (first taking the glass jar)
That can't contain things.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: Wear glove
response: (first taking the rubber glove)
You try and pull the glove on, but it is too small for either of your well-built hands.
action: You turn the glove
response: Nothing obvious happens.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: You turn the glove  inside out
response: You turn the glove inside out.
action: You look at the glove
response: A white rubber glove, turned inside out. The insides are stained by leakages and a slow build up of dirt.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: Wear glove
response: You try and pull the glove on, but it is too small for either of your well-built hands.
action: You put the glove on the pad
response: You hold the rubber glove against the pad.
"Print authorised. Access awarded to Elizabeth Brown."

A fairly gullible computer, isn't it? Especially considering the print was the wrong way round...
action: You examine the gadget
response: You can't have a proper adventure game these days without some special sci-fi gadget. In this case it resembles a microwave oven. It also sports a row of LEDs so it can flash them back and forth as it speaks in its predictably sarcastic monotone. Whoever built this one was well au fait with current trends and even painted a smiley face on the speaker. Lovely.
The sci-fi gadget is currently switched off.
action: You turn it on
response: The computer hums into life, its hard disc whirring as it downloads its highly complex and user-unfriendly operating system. The speaker jumps into life with a high-pitched computerised voice:

"Welcome to MacroSift Sowester, the latest in voice-operated computing. My name is Sharon, and I have been programmed to scan and recognise any object placed in my main bay. Have a nice day!"
action: You put the jar in bay
response: You put the glass jar into the sci-fi gadget.
action: Scan jar
response: A tinted glass barrier slides down and several lights flash inside the gadget. The screen is pulled back up as it reads out the result:

"Object is silver nitrate solution."
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a rubber glove
a briefcase (which is open)
an empty can of beer
a garden fork
a key ring
a white coat (being worn)
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a kettle
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You examine the pistol
response: The pistol is an uninspiring shade of washed-out pink, but makes up for it with the battery-powered sound effects generator tagged on to the handle. Its pea-sized water tank is currently full of water.
action: Empty pistol
response: Emptied.
action: You pour the jar in the pistol
response: The glass jar is closed.
action: You open the jar
response: You open the glass jar.
action: You pour the jar in the pistol
response: You fill the pistol from the jar.
action: You examine the pistol
response: The pistol is an uninspiring shade of washed-out pink, but makes up for it with the battery-powered sound effects generator tagged on to the handle. Its pea-sized water tank is currently full of a clear fluid.
action: Go south
response: This wide rectangle of concrete is littered with the chaotic fallout of everyday dairy farming. And its brown! The stark windows of the farmhouse stare accusingly down into the yard from the north, and, to the east, the roof of the main barn is outlined against the rising sun.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The farm gate to the south-west is safely shut.

A group of clucking chickens peck their way around the farmyard, desperately searching for grain.
action: You go east
response: Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.
action: Go upward
response: You climb skilfully up the ladder.

You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.
action: You put all in the pockets
response: glass jar: Done.
rubber glove: Done.
briefcase: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
action: You shoot the pictogram with the pistol
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
That's not a gun.
action: You examine the pistol
response: The pistol is an uninspiring shade of washed-out pink, but makes up for it with the battery-powered sound effects generator tagged on to the handle. Its pea-sized water tank is currently full of a clear fluid.
action: You shoot the pistol at the pictogram
response: The liquid hits the wall hard, but has little effect on the pictogram.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: You shoot the pistol at the cow
response: You fire a shining arc of the liquid straight at your adversary. The twisting, living wall seems to die and fall back flat, but you feel that you have not destroyed it for good.
action: You pour the jar in the pistol
response: (first taking the glass jar)
You fill the pistol from the jar.
An irresistible surge of terror rises within you as the face of the pictogram twists and seems to force its way out of the wall. You try to shut your eyes to it, but your only option seems to be flight. You have little time to escape as the power of the evil has almost rooted you to the spot.
action: You pour the jar in the pistol
response: There's not enough liquid here to fill anything.
An irresistible surge of terror rises within you as the face of the pictogram twists and seems to force its way out of the wall. You try to shut your eyes to it, but your only option seems to be flight. You have little time to escape as the power of the evil has almost rooted you to the spot.
action: Go outside
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You read the postcard
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go to the west
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.
The ground shakes violently and you are thrown to the ground as the altar chamber collapses, taking with it the barn and haystack, which slide into the earth.
action: Look around
response: This room is Gothic horror at its best. Dry, wooden torches burn brightly in their rusty iron brackets, sending a flickering orange light flashing around the high, vaulted stone rafters and dull granite flagstones. The walls are daubed with unsightly scenes of scarlet terror and cruelty, and, at the centre of this hexagonal cathedral of doom, a gigantic inverted cross hangs in space, suspended by a criss-crossing web of thin, spider-like ropes which lead ever upwards into the enormous arched roof. Sinister shadows are cast onto the floor from the grotesque, twisted statuettes which stand on their dark pedestals, seeming to writhe in the torchlight. Where the hell is this place...

Any moment now you expect a nice man with horns and hooves to jump from the shadows and discuss the afterlife, but, fortunately, there seem to be none of those in today.

Instead, a small note has been attached to the bottom of the cross with a drawing pin.
action: You look at note
response: (the note)
You can't read it from down on the floor.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn)
a rubber glove
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a kettle
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (providing light and being worn)
action: You throw the kettle at the note
response: (the note)
(first taking the kettle)
Futile.
action: You throw the brass key at the note
response: (the note)
(first taking the brass key)
Futile.
action: You get all
response: note: You can't reach the note from the floor.
cross: That's hardly portable.
action: You jump
response: You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: You are carrying:
a brass key
a kettle
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn)
a rubber glove
an envelope
a postcard
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (providing light and being worn)
The ground shakes violently and you are thrown to the ground as the altar chamber collapses, taking with it the barn and haystack, which slide into the earth.
action: You shoot the pistol at the note
response: (the note)
You pull the trigger but nothing comes out.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a kettle
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn)
a rubber glove
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (providing light and being worn)
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying:
a garden fork
a white coat (being worn)
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a kettle
a glass jar
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a toy pistol
a rubber glove
a sou'wester (being worn)
action: You put the fork in the coat
response: That's far too big to fit in the coat pockets.
action: You examine cross
response: It's over-riding feature is that it is the wrong way up. However, just for the record, it is made from two gigantic oak beams held together by two enormously thick selotape straps.
The primitive drawing continues to wrench itself into reality in a series of horrific jerks and contortions.
action: You get the note
response: (the note)
You can't reach the note from the floor.
As the scene comes to life before you a wind whips around the chamber, statues are blown over and torches threaten to go out. The evil figure emerging from the wall roars in anger at your intrusion.
action: You wait
response: Time passes.
The figure of a cow, decked in blood and gore, begins to take shape from the writhing pictogram and screams a dire warning. "Access Denied! Access Denied! Unauthorised personnel in building!" You start to petrify with fear.
action: Wait
response: Time passes.
An involuntary scream rips your throat open as the devilish figure pops from the canvas like a satanical morph. "Trespassers will be prosecuted....." screams the phantom of the pit as it totters about on its hind-legs, wreathed in smoke and flames. These demonic vassals never were very good at co-ordination, were they?
action: You shoot the pistol at the cow
response: (first taking the toy pistol)
The liquid squirts feebly towards the pictogram but has little effect upon it.
"I will destroy you!!!" The demon raises a hoof and a ball of fiery flame (isn't it all) cannons towards you. You are engulfed utterly, perish utterly, and generally cease to exist.
action: You fill the pistol from the jar
response: (first taking the glass jar)
You fill the pistol from the jar.
action: You shoot pistol at the note
response: (the note)
Unfortunately you miss.
action: You shoot the pistol at the note
response: (the note)
You fire the pistol at the cross, the shining arc of liquid hitting the pin, dissolving it to nothing.
action: You get the note
response: (the note)
Taken.
action: You check your inventory
response: You are carrying:
a note
a glass jar
a toy pistol
a white coat (being worn)
a rubber glove
a brass key
an envelope
a postcard
a kettle
a remote control (which is open but empty)
a faxed note
a leaflet
a typed note
a sou'wester (providing light and being worn)
action: You put all in the pockets
response: note: Done.
glass jar: Done.
toy pistol: Done.
action: You look around
response: This room is Gothic horror at its best. Dry, wooden torches burn brightly in their rusty iron brackets, sending a flickering orange light flashing around the high, vaulted stone rafters and dull granite flagstones. The walls are daubed with unsightly scenes of scarlet terror and cruelty, and, at the centre of this hexagonal cathedral of doom, a gigantic inverted cross hangs in space, suspended by a criss-crossing web of thin, spider-like ropes which lead ever upwards into the enormous arched roof. Sinister shadows are cast onto the floor from the grotesque, twisted statuettes which stand on their dark pedestals, seeming to writhe in the torchlight. Where the hell is this place...

Any moment now you expect a nice man with horns and hooves to jump from the shadows and discuss the afterlife, but, fortunately, there seem to be none of those in today.
action: You go southwest
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.
The ground shakes violently and you are thrown to the ground as the altar chamber collapses, taking with it the barn and haystack, which slide into the earth.
action: You go southwest
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

A fallen hay bale blocks your way. I'm afraid this is a dead end.

You'd better get yourself out of this hole.
action: Go west
response: There's only one way out, and that's where you came from.

You'd better get yourself out of this hole.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: A fallen hay bale blocks your way. I'm afraid this is a dead end.

You'd better get yourself out of this hole.
action: Dig
response: What do you want to dig?
action: You go northeast
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go outside
response: But you aren't in anything at the moment.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You examine the card
response: A post-card showing a rolling vista of Yorkshire countryside, taken from Skebdale Pike. A few unintelligible notes and messages have been scrawled on the back in slightly smudged fountain pen:

message to red-chevette the cows are flying you will find guidance from the circle that blocks your way follow the name of satan through the twisting way he has joined with the animals the devil is daisy, daisy is Denzil destroy it you will find the proof on the border of sleep you must remember to use silver bullets

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You look around
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a brass key here.
action: You get all from the pockets
response: rubber glove: Removed.
toy pistol: Removed.
typed note: Removed.
envelope: Removed.
postcard: Removed.
kettle: You're carrying too many things already.
glass jar: You're carrying too many things already.
remote control: You're carrying too many things already.
faxed note: You're carrying too many things already.
leaflet: You're carrying too many things already.
action: You get all from the pockets
response: kettle: Removed.
glass jar: Removed.
remote control: Removed.
faxed note: Removed.
leaflet: You're carrying too many things already.
action: Empty pistol
response: Emptied.

You feel uneasy, as if the pictogram is watching your every move.
action: You pour jar in the pistol
response: The glass jar is closed.
action: You open jar
response: You open the glass jar.

You feel unable to stop yourself turning and staring into the swirling eyes of the pictogram.
action: You go southeast
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a kettle here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go to the south
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a rubber glove here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go to the north
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a typed note here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go east
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see an envelope here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go north
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a postcard here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: Go south
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a brass key here.
The ground shakes violently and you are thrown to the ground as the altar chamber collapses, taking with it the barn and haystack, which slide into the earth.
action: You go to the south
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

You can see a brass key here.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.
action: You go southwest
response: You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.

You can also see a briefcase (in which are an empty can of beer, a garden fork and a key ring) here.

The ground shakes violently as the whole haystack threatens to collapse.
action: Go downward
response: You climb skilfully down the ladder.

Most of the space in the east end of the farms high stone barn is taken up by a huge haystack of rectangular bales, each of which is held together with tough, plastic twine. Around the double doors rusty farm equipment, almost inevitably infected with a potent range of bacteria, microbes, protozoa and agriculture ministers, lies derelict and unused.

Towering black cumulonimbus clouds pour forth vast quantities of tiny, hard hailstones onto Skebdale.

The sheepdog scampers back and forth along the base of the haystack, sniffing at cracks and whimpering.

A long rope ladder, safely twined around several hay bales, leads downwards from the ledge to the barn floor.

A red and white tractor is parked next to the haystack.

The barn roof starts to collapse, bales of hay tumbling from the stack above you.
action: Go west
response: The barn collapses behind you in a cloud of dust. You have rescued humanity from Satan and also saved your own skin.

*** You have won ***

In that game you scored 51 out of a possible 60, in 460 turns, earning you the rank of Vet of the Year.
action: Go southwest
response: Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

Thin, twisting passages lead off in all directions through the haystack.

The ground shakes violently as the chamber threatens to collapse.

You have to stoop on this tiny ledge in the side of the haystack, cunningly roofed over with bales. Your vertigo quickly kicks in and the barn floor seems to be a million miles away: downwards.

A thin dark passage leads westwards into the bales.

A furled rope ladder is attached to some bales at one side of the ledge.

You can also see a briefcase (in which are an empty can of beer, a garden fork and a key ring) here.

The ground shakes violently as the whole haystack threatens to collapse.
action: Go outside
response: The barn collapses behind you in a cloud of dust. You have rescued humanity from Satan and also saved your own skin.

*** You have won ***

In that game you scored 60 out of a possible 60, in 483 turns, earning you the rank of Saviour of the World.