The Blind House
by Amanda Allen (2010)

I scarcely know the woman at my side. I don't even know why she was the one I turned to. I can only hope that we haven't been followed, that she won't ask too many questions. The only choice left to me now is to trust her.

action: %
response: Help                  : H
Start a New Game      : (SPACE)
Restore               : R
Quit                  : Q

IMPORTANT: If this is your first time playing The Blind House, please type H and read the Introduction to The Blind House for some general guidelines on how to play.

Two women. Overcoats, the collars turned against the cold. Windswept hair, anxious eyes. Feet shuffling closer to a modest house.

The taller woman, a step behind her companion, suppresses a shiver. Her jaw hardens, almost imperceptibly.

Graphicless version of competition release - for ClubFloyd.

The wind howls at our backs as Marissa fumbles with the lock on the front door. Her little fingers, the tips blue and shrunken, seem to struggle with the bulky mortice key. I bite down on my impatience before it has a chance to flare.

It is uncertainty that holds me back from assisting. It's not exactly by invitation that I find myself here - more, by necessity - so my grasp of social propriety is somewhat shaken. My nerves, already on edge, are further stirred by the unseasonal cold and I rub my hands together, more as something to occupy my mind than as a genuine attempt to fight the numbness.

At last, the lock clicks open and Marissa pushes the door open. "Sorry," she murmurs. "Come in. Please." I oblige without delay, stepping into the relative warmth and darkness of Marissa's entry hall. The dimness, the overall drop in stimulation, is soothing. I try not to look too disappointed when she flicks on the light switch.

"Is there anything... can I get you something?" Marissa's eyes avoid mine as she delicately shrugs off her coat. I get the distinct impression she's not accustomed to playing hostess and I feel an inconvenient twinge of guilt. I mentally stomp on it. Now is not the time for self-doubt.

[1] "I'm fine. Thank you, Marissa."
[2] "Please, don't worry about me. I'm just thankful to be... out of the wind."
[3] "I'm... actually very tired. Would you mind showing me to somewhere I could sleep?"

[To respond in dialogue, enter a number, or enter "repeat" to reacquaint yourself with the options.]
action: 2
response: "Yes. Yes, of course." She pauses for a moment, staring, then blushes and looks away. "I'll show you the... your room. There are extra blankets in the cupboard if... if it's cold tonight."
We are half way down the hall before I even register we have started walking.

Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)

Marissa closes the door behind her and I sigh in relief, sinking down on the bed.
action: About yourself
response: Helena. I'm neatly dressed in a beige overcoat, a white blouse and modest brown skirt. My pale hair follows the curve of my spine in a long, but practical, plait.
action: About you
response: Helena. I'm holding together.
action: You check your inventory
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.
action: You look at the knife
response: It's a clean, ordinary kitchen knife.
action: You think about the knife
response: I suppose it's for self-defence, but I feel an inexplicable queasiness when I think about it. Something happened last night that I don't wish to contemplate.
action: You examine the bed
response: It's a single-sized bed, with a panelled bedhead and deep blue duvet. There is a minimal bedside table next to the bed.
action: You look at the hair
response: White-blonde. Even plaited, it nearly reaches my hips.
action: You examine the duvet
response: Dark blue. It looks warm.

I struggle against the exhausted trembling of my hands.
action: Wear duvet
response: (first trying to take the duvet)
I have no reason to take that.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)
This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You examine the mirror
response: There's a mirror facing the foot of the bed. I can't see much reflected in it from here.
action: You open the cupboard
response: (first getting off the bed)
The room dips threateningly as I get to my feet. My limbs attempt to tremble; I suppress them impatiently. Sleeping somewhere so foreign to me will be difficult, but I must be near collapsing from exhaustion. I should at least try to get some rest.
action: You examine the cupboard
response: An oak linen cupboard, imposingly tall and square-edged. Bevelled double-doors hang above a large drawer at the base.
action: You examine the door
response: My bedroom door. It's closed.
action: You look at the window
response: The window mostly looks out onto the fence between Marissa's property and her neighbour's. The fence itself is plain chain-link, but some privacy is offered by the climbing rose vine.

Evening approaches. It is still light outside, though the sky is dreary.

Cream-coloured venetian blinds are in their compressed position above the window.
action: You enter the bed
response: I sit down on the bed.
action: Doff overcoat
response: I... no, not right now. My coat gives me a certain feeling of security. I'll take it off later.
action: Sleep
response: I'm so tired that my hands are trembling involuntarily, but I'm just not comfortable enough to sleep yet. If only I could make this room feel safer, somehow. It's light in here, and I feel uneasy about my door being unlocked.

The mirror facing the bed stares back at me, menacing.

Fatigue plucks at the edges of my consciousness. It's getting late.
action: You think about the mirror
response: A hazy memory from last night wavers at the periphery of my mind. I feel my skin prickle.
action: You lock the door
response: (first getting off the bed)
With what key?
action: You look around
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You open the drawer
response: Sliding open the drawer, I impatiently wave away the wispy cloud of dust that floats forth. I can see some paintings stacked up inside.
action: You examine the paintings
response: A stack of old paintings. They can't have been touched for years - even inside the drawer, they've somehow managed to accumulate a thin layer of dust. Their subjects all seem to be women relaxing together in various settings - under parasols in a scenic park, by a fireplace in a cosy living room, lazing on a drifting canal boat.
action: You opethe double-doors
response: I open the cupboard doors. Peering inside, I see a few shelves covered in neatly-folded bed linens.

My vision is fading around the edges. I need to sleep, as soon as possible.
action: You take linens
response: I take a single blanket from the shelf.
action: You put the blanket on the window
response: That would be pointless.
action: You examine the blanket
response: It's a cream synthetic blanket.
action: You cover the mirror with the blanket
response: I throw the blanket over the mirror.
action: You close the blinds
response: I close the blinds.

My eyes take but a moment to adjust; the darkness is soothing.
action: Look around
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You open the door
response: I open my bedroom door.

Light radiates back into the room.
action: You examine the door
response: My bedroom door. It's open.
action: You enter door
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.
action: You knock on the door
response: (the east door)
I knock gently on the east door.

There is no response. I don't think Marissa's in there.
action: You knock on the east door
response: I knock gently on the east door.

There is no response. I don't think Marissa's in there.
action: You open the east door
response: It seems to be locked.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.

I struggle against the exhausted trembling of my hands.
action: You go to the south
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. Doors in the east and west walls lead to other rooms. The living room is to the south.
action: Go west
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You examine the window
response: The blinds are closed.
action: You close the door
response: I close my bedroom door.

My eyes take but a moment to adjust; the darkness is soothing.
action: You examine the door
response: My bedroom door. It's closed.
action: You lock the door
response: With what key?
action: You examine the door
response: My bedroom door. It's closed.

My vision is fading around the edges. I need to sleep, as soon as possible.
action: Look around
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You enter the bed
response: I sit down on the bed.
action: Sleep
response: I'm so tired that my hands are trembling involuntarily, but I'm just not comfortable enough to sleep yet. If only I could make this room feel safer, somehow. I feel uneasy about my door being unlocked.
action: You look around
response: Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)
This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You examine the cupboard
response: An oak linen cupboard, imposingly tall and square-edged. Bevelled double-doors hang above a large drawer at the base.

The double-doors hang open, revealing several shelves covered in bed linens.
action: You open the drawer
response: (first getting off the bed)
That's already open.
action: Stab linens
response: I'm loath to encourage such violence.
action: Go east
response: (first opening my bedroom door)
Hallway
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.

My vision is fading around the edges. I need to sleep, as soon as possible.
action: Go south
response: (first opening the hallway door)
Living Room
It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is a display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible through the glass.

A door to the north leads to the hallway and doors in the east and west walls lead to other rooms. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You examine table
response: The dining table is so tiny it's almost square.
action: You examine the chairs
response: A pair of dining chairs flank each side of the little table.
action: You examine the cabinet
response: The cabinet is dark timber with a glass panel. I can see some strange-looking ornaments lining a shelf inside.
action: You examine the ornaments
response: I'm a little taken aback by the ornaments. They're crude and disfigured, limbs out of proportion and faces melted into disturbing expressions - screams, sighs, grimaces. They're certainly not what I would choose to display in my own living room.
action: You go south
response: A nondescript alcove separates the front door from the living area to the north. Two large windows here allow a little light to permeate the otherwise dull living room.
action: You open the door
response: What an unconscionable thought. No. I'm not safe out there.
action: Go north
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is a display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible through the glass.

A door to the north leads to the hallway and doors in the east and west walls lead to other rooms. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You go west
response: (first opening the west door)
Kitchen
The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.

A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.

My vision is fading around the edges. I need to sleep, as soon as possible.
action: You go east
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is a display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible through the glass.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You go east
response: (first trying to open the east door)
It seems to be locked.
action: Go north
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. Doors in the east and west walls lead to other rooms. The living room is to the south.
action: Go west
response: (first opening the west door)
Bathroom
The bathroom is modestly sized and equipped, and as pristine as a hospital room. A white basin faces the door, a small mirrored cabinet attached to the wall above it. A toilet and shower are fixed against the north and south walls respectively. Just left of the doorway on the east wall is a small plastic table, covered in toiletries and other miscellany.
action: You go east
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The living room is to the south.
action: Go east
response: (first opening the east door)
Studio
This is surely an artist's studio. The concrete-floored room gives the impression of spaciousness simply because of how empty it is: an artist's easel sits right in the centre of the space, with an expensive-looking chair facing it. A floor-length window on the east wall adds to the discomforting sense of open space. The north wall, bare-bricked, looks strangely out of character with the painted walls of the rest of the house. The door is set into the west wall.

Marissa, apparently deep in concentration, doesn't even glance up from her painting as I enter the room.
action: You talk to Marissa
response: Marissa turns her eyes upon me, questioning.

[1] "Is there a key to my room?"
action: 1
response: Marissa fiddles nervously with her blouse. It strikes me how unnecessarily frilly the thing is; she certainly has plenty to fiddle with. "Is it not by the bedside? I must've forgotten, sorry. A minute..."

I watch her patter down the hallway and dart into my room. Her desire to take care of me seems more genuine than is warranted - or deserved, I catch myself thinking. Before last month, we had not seen each other since sixth form at college, years ago. She had no real reason to help me, no real reason to bring me to her home today.

On the other hand, it seems pointless to question her motives when I'm unable to clarify even my own. Last night... I didn't know what to do. She just happened to be the one I remembered. Maybe I thought I could be anonymous here. Safe.

Maybe I just knew she'd be unable to refuse.

I see Marissa walking back down the hall towards me, an odd look on her face. A vague look, I think. Something approaching regret stirs in me - maybe it's my own unease that has flustered her into losing keys. "Here," she says, dropping the key into my expectant palm, "I'm sorry." I manage to suppress a grimace as she places a well-meaning hand on my injured arm.

"I know having a key must be important to you now," she goes on, "but... you'll be safe here, you know. I don't think anyone could have followed us."

[1] "Thank you for understanding."
[2] "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you."
[3] "It's difficult to be certain of that. Thanks for the key."
action: You think about the arm
response: [To respond in dialogue, enter a number, or enter "repeat" to reacquaint yourself with the options.]
action: 1
response: She smiles uncertainly and returns to her painting.

I struggle against the exhausted trembling of my hands.
action: You examine the arm
response: They're tender.
action: You think about arm
response: They're fine. They'll be fine.

Marissa's brush flicks deftly against the canvas as she refines some small detail.
action: Go west
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: You lock the door
response: (with my bedroom door key)
I lock my bedroom door.
action: You enter the bed
response: I sit down on the bed.
action: You look at your surroundings
response: I double-check the lock on the door and undress in the dark, tossing my clothes onto a shelf in the wardrobe. The bedsheets are comfortingly crisp against my skin.

I am so thoroughly exhausted that - blissfully - I drift off to sleep almost immediately and am not forced to endure the company of my thoughts for long.

Nightmares chase me for hours.
But I'm already on the bed.
I wake suddenly, disoriented.

The room is dark and I have neither clock nor watch, but I feel certain it is not yet dawn. There is a strange splattering noise coming from outside; it takes me a moment to register it as rain.

The window rattles in the wind and the blinds chatter against the pane. I stand, my bare flesh prickling in the cold, and wander over to the window. The blinds seem damp and I wonder if the window is leaking. Moisture beads, brims, overflows in a pattern that seems chillingly familiar. The slats - so sharp - are not slats: they are knives, and the knives are in my hands. Rivulets of auburn bleed into the rain, plasmatic. Red stains spreading to the rhythm of the rattling window.
A gasp sounds as I bring the knives down again. My gasp. I wake again - properly - my heart racing painfully. Awake. Thank god.
Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)
This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.

It is dark in here, but I can still make out the room around me.
action: You look around
response: Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)
This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is a closed door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.

It is dark in here, but I can still make out the room around me.
action: You look in cupboard
response: (first opening the linen cupboard)
Inside the cupboard are a few shelves covered in neatly-folded bed linens. My overcoat is in here, too.
action: You wear the overcoat
response: (first trying to take the beige overcoat)
I don't need it just now.
action: You think about House
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my blouse and skirt.

>I'm not sure what that refers to.
action: Sleep
response: My arms are a mess. I'll have to clean them up before going back to bed.
action: You look at the arms
response: My arms look terrible. The blood is fresh and bright, the cuts underneath about a day old. They must have been aggravated as I slept.

Running some water over my arms might help to relieve the heat and itching.
action: You go east
response: (first unlocking my bedroom door with my bedroom door key, then opening my bedroom door)
Hallway
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.
action: Go south
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: You go to the west
response: The bathroom is modestly sized and equipped, and as pristine as a hospital room. A white basin faces the door, a small mirrored cabinet attached to the wall above it. A toilet and shower are fixed against the north and south walls respectively. Just left of the doorway on the east wall is a small plastic table, covered in toiletries and other miscellany.
action: You close the door
response: I close the bathroom door.
action: You turn on the sink
response: I turn on the basin tap.
action: Wash arms
response: I run some cool water over my itching forearms. Bloodied water swirls down the drain, stark against the white of the basin.

Oddly, there seems to be some redness under my fingernails, too. I pick out some dried flakes and wash them away.
action: You examine arms
response: With the blood cleaned away, the gashes on my arms are exposed, looking like so many horrid red mouths.
action: You examine the toiletries
response: An assortment of feminine toiletries. Nothing unexpected.
action: You open the cabinet
response: (first trying to open the medicine cabinet)
It seems to be locked.

>It seems to be locked.
action: Search table
response: On the plastic table are some toiletries, a perfume bottle, a packet of plasters, a bottle of hair dye and a vase.
action: You look at the plasters
response: A 50-pack of adhesive bandages.
action: You look at the vase
response: A traditional tall vase in green glazed ceramic. A few browning flowers hang wilted over the lip of the vase.
action: You turn off the sink
response: That's already off.
action: You look at the hair dye
response: It's a bottle of hair dye. Auburn #602.
action: You look at the perfume
response: A pretty, tulip-shaped glass bottle.
action: Bandage arms
response: With what?
action: Bandage arms with bandages
response: (first trying to take the packet of plasters)
(first opening the packet)
I take a handful of plasters and slip them into my skirt pocket.
action: You examine arms
response: With the blood cleaned away, the gashes on my arms are exposed, looking like so many horrid red mouths.
action: Bandage arms with bandages
response: (the plasters in my pocket)
I count out twenty plasters - ten for each arm - and methodically peel off each strip of backing paper and stick them in place.

Something wobbles in my peripheral vision. I snap my head up and stare at the mirror, at once on edge. Nothing. Only my reflection staring back at me. The odour of blood must be affecting my senses.
action: Bandage bandage with bandage
response: (first trying to take the plasters)
I'd rather leave the plasters where they are.
action: You examine the arms
response: They're clean and plastered.
action: You examine the mirror
response: I find myself unable to focus on the mirror. My vision fills with black when I try to look at it.
action: You go east
response: As I turn to leave, the surface of the mirror draws my eye; it seems, impossibly, to waver and shimmer. I pinch my forehead, trying to stay in the present, but memories from last night overwhelm my conscious mind. A struggle with a knife. A woman, her name I can't recall - only her eyes: angry tunnels, and then suddenly lifeless. Stunned regret supplanted by terror. Fumbling to clean the fast-coagulating mess. Running. Calling the only number I could focus on. Marissa's gentle concern, innocent of the reason for my distress.

Enough. I'm safe here. I should try to sleep again.
action: Go east
response: (first opening the bathroom door)
Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: You go to the north
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.

I can hear a strange muffled sound here, almost like a human voice.
action: You listen to the east door
response: The noise is coming from behind the east door. I lean in, pressing a palm to the doorframe, and listen intently. It sounds like whimpering.
action: You knock on the east door
response: I knock gently on the east door.

There is no response.
action: You talk
response: (myself)
I try not to make a habit of conversing with myself.
action: You think about the door
response: Which do I mean, my bedroom door or the east door?
action: You listen to the east door
response: The air is silent, now. Perhaps Marissa has also been suffering from nightmares tonight.
action: Go west
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.

It is dark in here, but I can still make out the room around me.

I feel a weird tingling in my right knuckles. I massage them gingerly.
action: You lock the door
response: (with my bedroom door key)
(first closing my bedroom door)
I lock my bedroom door.
action: You examine the knuckles
response: They're fine. Perhaps a little red, but that may just be the cold. I'm not sure what that tingling was.
action: You sit
response: (on the bed)
I sit down on the bed.
action: Y.
response: The bed does look inviting. Should I sleep now?
Wearily, I repeat the motions of undressing and crawl into bed.
Morning. I exhale slowly and run my fingertips along my arms, feeling the plasters there. Apparently, last night wasn't just a dream.

Rising from the bed, I stumble over to the cupboard to dress - almost tripping on the open drawer on the way. Did I forget to close it last night?
Excuse me?
action: You close the drawer
response: (first getting off the bed)
I close the drawer.
action: Inventory
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my blouse and skirt.
action: You look in the drawer
response: (first opening the drawer)
A stack of old paintings. They can't have been touched for years - even inside the drawer, they've somehow managed to accumulate a thin layer of dust. Their subjects all seem to be women relaxing together in various settings - under parasols in a scenic park, by a fireplace in a cosy living room, lazing on a drifting canal boat.

This painting looks fresher than those beneath it. The image is disturbing. Moreso, the longer I look at it. Depicted is a woman floating naked in the ocean, red strands of seaweed unfurling in the current and... strangling her about the neck. Her dying eyes are wild, staring upwards as though pleading.

A glint of wayward sunlight flashes at me from the mirror. The blanket must have fallen off sometime during the night.
action: You take the blanket
response: I start to lift the blanket and pause, my pulse suddenly in my throat. Is that... blood?
action: No
response: It's smeared with blood. I can't remember touching it last night... I'd better leave it here for now.

>I don't understand.
action: You go east
response: Marissa's studio. The concrete-floored room gives the impression of spaciousness simply because of how empty it is: an artist's easel sits right in the centre of the space, with an expensive-looking chair facing it. A floor-length window on the east wall adds to the discomforting sense of open space. The north wall, bare-bricked, looks strangely out of character with the painted walls of the rest of the house. The door is set into the west wall.
action: You examine the north wall
response: Row after row of exposed, unpainted bricks.
action: You examine the easel
response: An old but sturdy wooden easel. There's a canvas on the easel.
action: You examine the canvas
response: Marissa is painting a landscape, apparently without visual reference. It looks near completion - a desolate cliff overlooking a misty ocean. Melancholic, but admittedly quite beautiful.
action: You go south
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is a display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible through the glass.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.

The house is utterly still; I think Marissa must have gone out for the day. Perhaps I can take this chance to look around a little.
action: West
response: The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.

A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.

A handwritten note has been placed near the middle of the bench.
action: You examine the note
response: Helena,
I hope you slept well. Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk much last night - it's just that I'm not used to company. I'll be back this evening. Please make yourself at home.
-M
action: You look in the fridge
response: (first opening the fridge)
Marissa's fridge seems reasonably well-stocked; perhaps she bought some of these fresher items yesterday after receiving my call.
action: Examine calendar
response: It's a calendar, pinned on the wall and open to the current month. It's completely empty of appointments, but every Tuesday has been neatly highlighted in yellow. Today is Tuesday, I suddenly remember.
action: You examine the sink
response: Steel, and stainless indeed. Marissa certainly keeps her space clean.
action: You look at the stove
response: The kitchen appliances are of little interest to me.
action: You look at plants
response: The plants are pleasant enough; they bring a little life into the drab kitchen.
action: You look at the phone
response: A telephone base is attached to the wall, next to the door. A basic-looking handset sits on the cradle.
action: You dial 999
response: (on the telephone handset)
(first taking the telephone handset)
(dialing "999")
I have no idea who "999" is.
action: You dial the pizza
response: (on the telephone handset)
(dialing "pizza")
I have no idea who "pizza" is.
action: You call the mom
response: (on the telephone handset)
(dialing "mom")
I have no idea who "mom" is.
action: You dial marissa
response: (on the telephone handset)
(dialing "Marissa")
I have no idea who "Marissa" is.
action: You dial Marrisa
response: (on the telephone handset)
(dialing "Marrisa")
I have no idea who "Marrisa" is.
action: You look at the handset
response: The handset has very little functionality; it must be a relatively old model. On the LCD, there is a remarkably brief list of what appears to be contacts stored in the phone's memory:

1. Estelle: 01395847839
2. CAB: 01395137503
3. PHC: 01395042356
action: You call the CAB
response: (on the telephone handset)
(dialing "CAB")
I have no idea who "CAB" is.
action: Dial 2
response: (on the telephone handset)
I'm fairly certain that's the number for the local Citizens Advice Bureau. I have no reason to call them myself.
action: Dial 3
response: (on the telephone handset)
PHC... I've no idea who or what that might mean. At any rate, I'm not going to call them.
action: Dial 1
response: (on the telephone handset)
I don't even know who "Estelle" is!
action: You look around
response: The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.

A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.

A handwritten note has been placed near the middle of the bench.
action: You open the fridge
response: That's already open.
action: You close the fridge
response: I close the fridge.
action: You go east
response: I replace the telephone handset on the base.

It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is a display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible through the glass.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.
action: Examine tv
response: The old television set is hooked up to a video recorder. A box on the floor nearby seems to be filled with several video cassettes.

The television is off.
action: You look at the box
response: It's a plain cardboard box. Inside, there are some films on cassette tape, as well as some homemade tapes labelled "all the roses that were ever painted" and "Neverending Fantasia".
action: You turn on the tv
response: I switch the television on.
action: You put Fantasia in the vcr
response: (first taking the "Neverending Fantasia" tape)
Immediately, a new image appears on the television screen.

"Neverending Fantasia" - it looks to be a children's film about a boy who escapes an unhappy reality and ventures into a fantasy world. Even fast-forwarding through it, I can see how the tape has been damaged in sections from countless viewings.
action: You look at all the the roses
response: It's a videocassette tape labelled "all the roses that were ever painted".
action: You put all the the roses that were ever painted in the vcr
response: (first taking the "all the roses that were ever painted" tape)
(first removing the "Neverending Fantasia" tape)
I put the "Neverending Fantasia" tape back in the box.

Immediately, a new image appears on the television screen.

A documentary about Matisse. Skimming through it, I find myself questioning why the man is so famous; his paintings look gaudy and amateurish to me - not at all like the little I've seen of Marissa's art. The film covers some philosophising about the purity of art and the dangers of expressing "over-excitement" in a painting. Most interesting is the sentiment expressed towards the end, an entreaty to all artists: "guard the original naivet?". Fascinating - at least, as far as it concerns those with naivet? left to guard. I wonder how much Marissa takes these philosophies to heart.
action: You sit on the armchair
response: I sit down on the armchair, facing the television. A cardboard box on the floor nearby appears to be providing storage for a collection of video cassettes.
action: You open cabinet
response: (first leaving the armchair)
I open the cabinet.

Some misshapen, unglazed red clay ornaments decorate the shelf. They're unsettling to look at.

One ornament stands out from the disturbing clay figures: an imposing porcelain queen, swathed in an elaborate blue gown, her head tilted back regally.
action: You look at the queen
response: The detail on the porcelain figure is incredible. It exudes a presence that belies its tiny stature. Quite a contrast to the ugly ornaments surrounding it.
action: You think about the queen
response: Judging by the sheer level of detail, this ornament must have cost some serious money. It might even be an antique. It certainly doesn't fit in with anything else in the room. A gift, perhaps?
action: You go east
response: (first trying to open the east door)
It seems to be locked.
action: You look around
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.
action: Go north
response: Hallway (north end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the south. In the west wall is a door leading to another room. A striking painting hangs on the north wall.
action: You examine the painting
response: The painting is of a brightly coloured landscape: a silhouetted forest against a vivid sunset, stark orange casting the foreground into blues. The figure of a woman can be made out in the darkness, clinging to a tree dramatically. Her long hair covers her face.
action: You think about the painting
response: The very bottom of the painting lacks detail - it looks almost unfinished, as though the artist had finished all the important details and then abandoned the effort.
action: You examine the woman
response: She is almost draped across the tree, her hair falling wildly across her face, rendering her without identity.
action: Go west
response: (first opening the west door)
Laundry
I find myself in a tiny laundry; there is scarcely room to move around the sink and washing machine that occupy most of the space in here, and I'm forced to hunch inelegantly to avoid being battered by the clothes hanging from a line across the ceiling. A crumpled blouse is on the lid of the washing machine.

In the west wall is a door leading outside.
action: You look at the blouse
response: (Marissa's blouse)
A pale, long-sleeved blouse, smelling faintly of perfume. It is stained dark on one sleeve.
action: You look at the stain
response: It looks like an ink stain, perhaps an imprint from something Marissa had written on her arm. Squinting, I think I can almost make out writing. "4, 9"?
action: Keep going
response: It's probably an imprint from something Marissa had written on her arm. It says "4, 9".
action: You look at clothesline
response: A thin plastic line is suspended across the ceiling, with an assortment of ladies' garments on hangers arranged along it.
action: You examine the washer
response: A top-loading washing machine. A blouse has been tossed onto the lid, presumably waiting to be washed.
action: You look in the washer
response: (first taking Marissa's blouse)
(first opening the washing machine)
The washing machine is empty.
action: Don blouse
response: (Marissa's blouse)
It's too small for me. Besides, it's not clean.
action: You go west
response: I feel cold beads of sweat forming on my neck as I consider going outside. Marissa's assurance that no-one could possibly have followed us here seems empty and foolhardy with the outside world so close. I hesitate, wrestling with my rapid breathing. It is only her back garden, I tell myself. No-one is there.

No point in dragging Marissa's blouse around. I'll leave it here.

(first opening the back door)
Back Garden
The back door opens westward onto a small, fairly sparse back garden. A pair of concrete steps lead down from the doorway onto a neat but plain lawn, and facing them is a chain-link fence separating Marissa's property from her neighbour's. The fence is completely covered by a thick rose vine bearing magnificent red flowers.
action: You examine the flowers
response: The vine is heavy with red roses.
action: You look at the fence
response: A chain-link fence, weighed down by a climbing rose vine.
action: Look around
response: The back door opens westward onto a small, fairly sparse back garden. A pair of concrete steps lead down from the doorway onto a neat but plain lawn, and facing them is a chain-link fence separating Marissa's property from her neighbour's. The fence is completely covered by a thick rose vine bearing magnificent red flowers.

I find my breath is coming in short gasps. Being outdoors is making me intensely nervous.
action: You take the rose
response: (the roses on the vine)
Carefully avoiding the thorns, I gather a handful of roses from the vine.

I blink and frown in the glare of the clouds, conscious that a neighbour could be watching me.
action: Smell the roses
response: (the cluster of roses)
They're fresh and heady.
action: Go down
response: There's nowhere to go in that direction. The only obvious exit is east (to the laundry).
action: You look at the roses
response: (the cluster of roses)
A handful of vivid red roses.
action: Inventory
response: I'm holding a cluster of roses.

Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my blouse and skirt.
action: Go east
response: The laundry is tiny; there is scarcely room to move around the sink and washing machine that occupy most of the space in here, and I'm forced to hunch inelegantly to avoid being battered by the clothes hanging from a line across the ceiling. A crumpled blouse is on the lid of the washing machine.

In the west wall is a door leading outside.
action: You close the door
response: Which do I mean, the back door or the laundry door?
action: Back
response: I close the back door.
action: Go east
response: Hallway (north end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the south. In the west wall is a door leading to the laundry. A striking painting hangs on the north wall.
action: You examine the painting
response: The painting is of a brightly coloured landscape: a silhouetted forest against a vivid sunset, stark orange casting the foreground into blues. The figure of a woman can be made out in the darkness, clinging to a tree dramatically. Her long hair covers her face.
action: You examine the woman
response: She is almost draped across the tree, her hair falling wildly across her face, rendering her without identity.
action: You look behind the painting
response: The forest has an enchanting illusion of depth to it, but there's only blank wall behind the painting.
action: Go south
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.
action: Go south
response: (first trying to open the front door)
What an unconscionable thought. No. I'm not safe out there.
action: You think about the roses
response: These could make a thoughtful gift. No-one has ever given me flowers.
action: You put the flowers in the vase
response: (the cluster of roses in the vase)
There's no room for the roses with those dead flowers in the vase.
action: You take dead
response: I pluck out the ruined flowers and flush them away. As I begin to tip out the murky water, a quiet clank sounds from inside the vase, and I barely catch a small yale key before it drops down the drain.
action: You put the flowers in vase
response: I fill the vase with some water, then take some time to satisfactorily arrange the roses. They improve the room considerably.
action: You examine the flowers
response: A handful of vivid red roses.
action: You go east
response: As I turn to leave, I catch sight of my hands. My fingertips are slightly stained, as though the red from the roses has rubbed off onto them. Impossible, surely. I turn on the tap and rinse my fingers, frowning. Reddish water swirls down the drain, stark against the white of the basin.

Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: You unlock the east door with the key
response: Which do I mean, the yale key or my bedroom door key?
action: Yale
response: That's unlocked at the moment.
action: Go north
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is a door which I can only assume leads to the master bedroom.
action: Go west
response: The bathroom is modestly sized and equipped, and as pristine as a hospital room. A white basin faces the door, a small mirrored cabinet attached to the wall above it. A toilet and shower are fixed against the north and south walls respectively. Just left of the doorway on the east wall is a small plastic table, covered in toiletries and other miscellany. A vase of red roses lends some colour to the otherwise monochromatic room.

Marissa's bottle of hairdye has fallen onto the floor. Fortunately, none of the content seems to have spilled.
action: You take the hair dye
response: Frowning slightly, I place the bottle back on the plastic table.
action: You unlock the cabinet with the yale key
response: I unlock the medicine cabinet.
action: You open medicine cabinet
response: I open the medicine cabinet.

The interior of the cabinet is stained with age, but spotlessly clean. Inside, I can see a canister of Valium and a tube of superglue.
action: You examine the glue
response: Super Glue. Bonds on contact.
action: You take the glue
response: Taken.
action: You think about the Valium
response: Valium? I wouldn't have expected Marissa to assent to such quackery.
action: You read the Valium
response: Diazepam: anxiolytic, hypnotic. For treating symptoms of anxiety, agitation and insomnia. Take one tablet once a day as directed by doctor.
action: You think about the glue
response: Always useful, I suppose.
action: You enter shower
response: I'm clean.
action: You look at toilet
response: A white toilet.
action: You open the fridge
response: Marissa's fridge seems reasonably well-stocked; perhaps she bought some of these fresher items yesterday after receiving my call.
action: Water plants
response: They look very well tended to without my interference.
action: Break queen
response: For some reason, I do feel violently inclined towards the porcelain queen. I think it's that haughty expression. I'm not going to damage Marissa's possessions, though.
action: You pick up queen
response: I lift the queen, involuntarily reverent. She - it - is heavier than it appears, but I'm still so struck by its delicacy that I carefully place it back on its shelf.
action: You pull the chairs
response: The chairs are fine where they are.
action: You enter chair
response: I sit down on the lesser-used dining chair. I feel an inexplicable discomfort, sitting here.
action: You stand
response: I stand.
action: You think about the dining table
response: On closer inspection, it looks like the table folds out to a more substantial length, but the hinges are rusted stiff from disuse.
action: Look around
response: Living Room (on the chairs)
It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You stand on the table
response: (first leaving the chairs)
That's not something I can stand on.
action: You look at the shelf
response: There are some ornaments on the shelf. They're crude and disfigured, limbs out of proportion and faces melted into disturbing expressions - screams, sighs, grimaces. They're certainly not what I would choose to display in my own living room.

Odd. That porcelain queen seems to have disappeared from the cabinet. Marissa must have moved it out of sight.
action: Inventory
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against a tube of superglue, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my blouse and skirt.
action: You look at the ornaments
response: They're crude and disfigured, limbs out of proportion and faces melted into disturbing expressions - screams, sighs, grimaces. They're certainly not what I would choose to display in my own living room.
action: You take the ornaments
response: They're relatively ugly and uninteresting. I don't care to mess with them.
action: You examine windows
response: They let in natural light - a rare commodity in this house, it would seem.
action: You look at the east door
response: It's closed and locked.
action: You search the cabinet
response: The cabinet is dark timber with a glass panel. I can see some strange-looking ornaments lining a shelf inside.
action: Search ornaments
response: They're relatively ugly and uninteresting. I don't care to mess with them.
action: You go north
response: There's nowhere to go in that direction. The only obvious exit is east (to the living room).
action: You touch the north wall
response: I find myself remembering the strange numbers printed on Marissa's blouse - "4,9". Oh, surely not. Feeling a touch self-conscious, I count across to the fourth brick in the ninth row, and give it a gentle nudge. Sure enough, it is loose.
action: You take the loose brick
response: I pull the brick free from the wall. Through the hole it leaves, I can see right into the adjacent room.

I feel a touch dizzy. My hands are covered in mortar grit - and blood?
action: You examine the brick
response: An ordinary brown brick.
action: Go west
response: Well, no point in lugging this brick around the house. Dropped.

Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: Go west
response: The bathroom is modestly sized and equipped, and as pristine as a hospital room. A white basin faces the door, a small mirrored cabinet attached to the wall above it. A toilet and shower are fixed against the north and south walls respectively. Just left of the doorway on the east wall is a small plastic table, covered in toiletries and other miscellany. A vase of red roses lends some colour to the otherwise monochromatic room.
action: You wash hands
response: They're clean.
action: You go east
response: Marissa's studio. The concrete-floored room gives the impression of spaciousness simply because of how empty it is: an artist's easel sits right in the centre of the space, with an expensive-looking chair facing it. A floor-length window on the east wall adds to the discomforting sense of open space. The north wall, bare-bricked, looks strangely out of character with the painted walls of the rest of the house. The door is set into the west wall.

I can see a brick here.
action: You look in the hole
response: I lean in towards the hole, close enough that the edges of the surrounding bricks feel sharp against my brow and cheekbone, and look through to the dimly-lit master bedroom. I can't make out much detail, but there seems to be something unusual about the walls. Perhaps it's only the shadows, but I feel as though I'm being watched.

I feel certain this loose brick can't have come about by chance. Marissa must have left that blouse and the co-ordinates out for me to find - maybe she wants me to keep an eye on her.
action: You look at the blood
response: A gritty mixture of mortar and blood is smeared over my hands.
action: Rub
response: What do I want to rub?
action: Rub blood
response: I wipe away the muck on my hands.
action: You look at the window
response: The huge window could easily be mistaken for a door, only it doesn't seem to be openable. It looks out onto an isolated street.
action: You examine the street
response: The neighbourhood is quiet and leafy. I imagine Marissa must be the youngest inhabitant of the street by far; the houses here have an unmistakable "retiree" look to them.
action: You sit in the chair
response: I sit down on the studio chair. I immediately notice that it's at entirely the wrong height and angle for my body.
action: Look around
response: Studio (on the chair)
Marissa's studio. The concrete-floored room gives the impression of spaciousness simply because of how empty it is: an artist's easel sits right in the centre of the space, with an expensive-looking chair facing it. A floor-length window on the east wall adds to the discomforting sense of open space. The north wall, bare-bricked, looks strangely out of character with the painted walls of the rest of the house. The door is set into the west wall.

I can see a brick here.
action: You adjust the chair
response: Marissa has obviously adjusted this chair to suit her own proportions; I have no reason to meddle with it.
action: You go west
response: (first leaving the chair)
Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.
action: West
response: There's nowhere to go in that direction. The only obvious exit is east (to hallway (south end)).
action: North
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
action: West
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.

I can see a blanket here.
action: You open the blinds
response: I open the blinds, revealing the window.
action: You look at the window
response: The window mostly looks out onto the fence between Marissa's property and her neighbour's. The fence itself is plain chain-link, but some privacy is offered by the climbing rose vine.

The sky outside is overcast and uninviting.

Cream-coloured venetian blinds are in their compressed position above the window.
action: You examine the drawer
response: The drawer is at the base of the cupboard, with two squarish knobs protruding from it. I can see some paintings stacked up inside the open drawer.
action: You look at the paintings
response: A stack of old paintings. They can't have been touched for years - even inside the drawer, they've somehow managed to accumulate a thin layer of dust. Their subjects all seem to be women relaxing together in various settings - under parasols in a scenic park, by a fireplace in a cosy living room, lazing on a drifting canal boat.

Here is another painting that I'm certain wasn't here before. A mattress lies in the centre of a bare wooden floor, covered in a mass of bloodstained bedsheets. Nested in the middle of the sheets is the body of a woman - she is asleep, or perhaps dead. Her skin is so pale and the brushstrokes so clumsy that it is difficult to tell limb from sheet.
action: You think about the painting
response: Where are these paintings coming from? Is Marissa trying to communicate something?
action: You look at the woman
response: (the woman in bedsheets)
I think she is smiling. It is a disturbing image.
action: You examine the bedsheets
response: Various neutral-coloured linens - blankets, duvets, sheets, pillowcases. They all look freshly-laundered.
action: You examine the bed
response: It's a single-sized bed, with a panelled bedhead and deep blue duvet. There is a minimal bedside table next to the bed.
action: You examine the blanket
response: It's smeared with blood. I can't remember touching it last night.
action: You look at the table
response: It's completely bare. Not even a clock or a lamp to break up the surface.
action: You examine the cupboard
response: An oak linen cupboard, imposingly tall and square-edged. Bevelled double-doors hang above a large drawer at the base.

The double-doors hang open, revealing several shelves covered in bed linens. My overcoat is in here, too.
action: You take the overcoat
response: It might be prudent to keep my arms covered.

Taken.
action: You wear the overcoat
response: I put on the beige overcoat.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against a tube of superglue, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.
action: You put the blouse in the washer
response: (Marissa's blouse in the washing machine)
(first trying to take Marissa's blouse)
Carrying around the blanket is cumbersome enough. I'd prefer to put that down, first.
action: You put the blanket in the washer
response: (first taking Marissa's blouse)
(first opening the washing machine)
I heap the blanket into the machine and run it through a wash cycle, my gaze wandering idly over the room. The washing machine rumbles to a stop. I extract the blanket and hang it over the clothesline.
action: You put the blouse in the washer
response: (Marissa's blouse in the washing machine)
I'll let Marissa take care of it.
action: You look at the blanket
response: Damp, but clean.
action: You look in the washer
response: The washing machine is empty.
action: You examine the hangers
response: The clothes are uniformly simple and practical.
action: Go east
response: No point in dragging Marissa's blouse around. I'll leave it here.

Hallway (north end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the south. In the west wall is a door leading to the laundry. A striking painting hangs on the north wall.
action: Go south
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
action: Go west
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You wear the perfume
response: (first trying to take the perfume bottle)
I have no reason to take that.
action: You examine the dye
response: It's a bottle of hair dye. Auburn #602.
action: You think about the dye
response: That sort of vanity has never really made much sense to me. Who is it for, anyway?
action: You think about the perfume
response: Does she just wear this around the house?
action: You examine table
response: It's white plastic, with a subtle abstract pattern painted on it - that much looks home-made.

Neatly arranged on the table are a bottle of hair dye, some toiletries, a perfume bottle, a packet of plasters and a vase.
action: You look at pattern
response: It's deceptively intricate; I imagine such a pattern would have taken some hours to paint.
action: You examine the vase
response: A traditional tall vase in green glazed ceramic. An attractive arrangement of red roses fills the vase.
action: Smell the roses
response: They're fresh and heady.
action: You check what you're carrying
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against a tube of superglue, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.
action: You examine the bench
response: Grey marble laminate. A note is on the bench.
action: You read the note
response: Helena,
I hope you slept well. Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk much last night - it's just that I'm not used to company. I'll be back this evening. Please make yourself at home.
-M
action: You examine the sink
response: Steel, and stainless indeed. Marissa certainly keeps her space clean.
action: You examine the fridge
response: A tall white fridge. It seems well-maintained, but age is beginning to show: there are flecks of corrosion along the edges.
action: You look at the stove
response: The kitchen appliances are of little interest to me.
action: You look at the phone
response: A telephone base is attached to the wall, next to the door. A basic-looking handset sits on the cradle.
action: You examine the handset
response: (first taking the handset)
The handset has very little functionality; it must be a relatively old model. On the LCD, there is a remarkably brief list of what appears to be contacts stored in the phone's memory:

1. Estelle: 01395847839
2. CAB: 01395137503
3. PHC: 01395042356
action: Dial 1
response: (on the telephone handset)
I don't even know who "Estelle" is!
action: You think about the calendar
response: What's the significance of Tuesdays, I wonder?

The calendar seems to be hanging oddly; it isn't flat against the wall.
action: You look behind the calendar
response: I lift the calendar, and find a key hanging on the pin behind it.
action: You take the key
response: (the mortice key)
I remove the key from behind the calendar and pocket it.
action: You go east
response: I replace the telephone handset on the base.

It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to another room. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You go east
response: (first trying to open the east door)
It seems to be locked.
action: You check your inventory
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against a mortice key, a tube of superglue, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.
action: You open the east door with the mortice key
response: I unlock the east door.
action: Go east
response: (first opening the east door)
Study
The modest study has a cold, neglected feel to it; the air is still and oppressive, the silence broken by the stern, relentless ticking of a wall clock. A flimsy desk against the far wall provides support for a primitive-looking computer. An overflowing bookcase sits against the south wall, while the door leads back west to the living room.
action: Smell
response: The house has a faint traces of perfume everywhere.
action: You listen
response: The ticking sets me on edge if I concentrate on it.
action: You look at the clock
response: It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 7:03.
action: You examine the bookcase
response: The bookcase is tall and expansive; despite this, it is crammed beyond its intended capacity with books.
action: Examine books
response: The books mostly seem to fall into three genres: art theory, fantasy and romance. There is also a sprinkling of non-fiction books with titles like "Training the Black Dog" and "The Light at the End of Depression".
action: You look at training the black Dog
response: There are quite a number of self help books in the bookcase. I can see terms like "cognitive therapy" and "self-esteem" repeating through several of the titles.
action: You look at the desk
response: The white desk is of the kind designed to fold up for easier storage. An old computer is on the desk.
action: You examine computer
response: The computer is a bulky beige model - it certainly doesn't look recently-bought. The CRT monitor is currently blank.
action: You turn on the computer
response: The computer hums and grumbles its way to life.

A dialog box is on screen, requesting the user password for "Marissa". Damn.
action: Look around
response: The modest study has a cold, neglected feel to it; the air is still and oppressive, the silence broken by the stern, relentless ticking of a wall clock. A flimsy desk against the far wall provides support for a primitive-looking computer. An overflowing bookcase sits against the south wall, while the door leads back west to the living room.
action: You look at the clock
response: It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 7:15.
action: You go west
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You take the note
response: I don't need to take the note with me; I can read it where it is.
action: Turn note
response: Nothing obvious happens.
action: You look up the art theory in the books
response: Which do I mean, the art theory books, the romance books, the fantasy books or the self help books?
action: You examine the art theory books
response: Art theory, history, essays and other related texts.
action: You examine the romance books
response: A few "stock standard" Mills & Boon, though most of the books seem to be from smaller publishers.
action: You examine fantasy books
response: Fantasy novels about strong-willed lady knights and sorceresses. I think I can see a scrap of paper protruding from one of the books.
action: You take the scrap
response: Taken.
action: You examine the scrap
response: It's a scrap of lined paper, probably torn from a notebook. In small, neat writing are the words "serenity devoid".
action: Type serenity devoid
response: The password field vanishes.

The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:

Word Processor
action: Open mail
response: I'm not sure what that refers to.
[If I am trying to "open" something on the computer screen, I should try "click"-ing it instead.]
action: You click the mail
response: I double-click on the "Mail" icon.

Marissa's inbox. The following emails are available to read or reply to:

Plymvale Health Centre   Auto reminder: Prescription renewal Pain~M.eds               80% discounted prices
Helena Jevne             Re: Re: Hi
ClassmateReunion.com     Inquiry Results
Helena Jevne             Re: Hi
Helena Jevne             Hi
Estelle Clements         Thank you
Estelle Clements         Request

I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
action: You read the request
response: I am expecting some company later this week. Would you be available to come over on Wednesday in addition to your usual Tuesday?
Estelle
action: You read thank you
response: Thank you. I appreciate it. You are always so reliable.
Estelle
action: You read hi
response: Dear Marissa,
It was lovely to run into you again today. You're looking well. It is such a pleasure to speak to you again after so many years. I hope you made it home safely.
Well wishes,
Helena
action: You read the inquiry results
response: Dear Marissa,
In response to your recent inquiry, this email is to inform you that your search for "Helena Jevne" returned 0 results.
Thanks for using ClassmateReunion.com!
action: You read the prescription renewal
response: This is an automated message to remind you to renew your prescription for Valium. We look forward to seeing you at Plymvale Health Centre soon. Please do not reply to this email.
action: Escape
response: [Try "click escape" or "click esc"]
action: You click the escape
response: I return to the operating system.

The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:

Word Processor
action: You click the browser
response: I double-click on the "Browser" icon.

The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:



I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
action: You click the history
response: Empty! Either she doesn't actually use this computer, or she goes to the bother of clearing her history. How paranoid.

The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:



I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
action: You click the favourites
response: Marissa has very few favourites saved: there are a couple of art blogs, an online bookstore, and one of those "classmate finder" websites.

The browser is open. The following icons are available to click on:



I can also click an "escape" button to return to the operating system.
action: Click bookstore
response: I could while away many hours browsing through all this, but then Marissa would likely come home and find me in here. Besides, I'm sure I can manage to occupy myself with other things.
action: You click the Word Processor
response: I double-click on the "Word Processor" icon and glance briefly over the program. Marissa has only one recently-opened document: a Tax Invoice template for "M. Ridley Cleaning". Her business, I assume. Interesting. I give the file a cursory glance, then close the word processor.

The desktop is displayed. The following icons are available to click on:

Word Processor
action: You look at the clock
response: It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 3:16.
action: You examine the clock
response: It's a plain, unattractive, ticking timepiece. The hands point to 3:17.
action: You go to the west
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.

I can hear a phone ringing from somewhere to the west.
action: Go west
response: The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.

A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.

A handwritten note has been placed near the middle of the bench.

The phone rings out just as I step into the room. It echoes eerily in my head.
action: Dial 1
response: (on the telephone handset)
(first taking the telephone handset)
Curious, I dial "Estelle". The phone rings once. Twice. Six times, then a female voice - no, a recording of one - answers in stiff Oxford English: "Hello, you've reached Estelle. I am unable to receive your call at this time, so please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible." I hang up before the tone.
action: You examine the phone
response: (examining the handset)
The handset has very little functionality; it must be a relatively old model. On the LCD, there is a remarkably brief list of what appears to be contacts stored in the phone's memory:

1. Estelle: 01395847839
2. CAB: 01395137503
3. PHC: 01395042356
action: Dial 1
response: (on the telephone handset)
Curious, I dial "Estelle". The phone rings once. Twice. Six times, then a female voice - no, a recording of one - answers in stiff Oxford English: "Hello, you've reached Estelle. I am unable to receive your call at this time, so please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible." I hang up before the tone.
action: Continue
response: (on the telephone handset)
I don't really have cause to call her again. Besides, that stiff voice sends a chill up my spine.
action: You think about Estelle
response: Her name alone nauseates me. I am certain there is something dangerous about that woman.
action: Dial 3
response: (on the telephone handset)
PHC... Plymvale Health Centre? I don't need to call them.
action: You go east
response: I replace the telephone handset on the base.

I flinch, startled, as I step into the living room: an elaborately-dressed woman is sitting at Marissa's dining table, bold as day. She looks to be in her late fifties and glares at me from beneath a permanently-wrinkled brow.

[1] "Who are you?"
[2] "What are you doing here?"
action: 1
response: The woman meets my eyes with a steely gaze. "Surely, you've already read enough of my correspondence with Marissa to know." My vision wobbles threateningly, but I square my shoulders and glare back at her.

[1] "What are you doing here?"
action: 1
response: She smirks. "Marissa wishes it. Can you honestly say the same for yourself?" I can begin to feel rage quietly building up beneath my ribcage.

[1] "I think you should leave, now."
action: 1
response: "You utter imbecile. Can't you even recognise yourself in the mirror?"

[1] "Mirror? What would you know about that?"
[2] "Of course I can, you vile woman!"
action: You examine the woman
response: An older woman with an air of wealth and haughtiness. She wears a strikingly elaborate blue gown, and a tiara is nestled in her silver perm.
action: You look at gown
response: What an excessive garment! It looks oddly familiar.
action: You look at the tiara
response: It seems a strange accessory for a grown woman. What might it represent to her?
action: You examine the queen
response: (the strange woman)
An older woman with an air of wealth and haughtiness. She wears a strikingly elaborate blue gown, and a tiara is nestled in her silver perm.
action: 1
response: "I was watching from behind the glass - as, obviously, were you."

I gasp, tiny fibres from the carpet floating into my mouth; somehow I am lying cheek-down on the floor. The woman is gone. Presumably, the old bitch struck me prone.

I raise myself to my feet, feeling angry for the intrusion. Who exactly is this woman that Marissa is dealing with?

I hear the front door open and look over to see Marissa entering the room. She greets me with a shy smile and places her handbag down on the table.
action: You think about the queen
response: I'm admittedly relieved the porcelain figure is gone. Somehow, that little queen made me more uncomfortable than the ugly clay ornaments.
action: You talk to Marissa
response: Marissa turns her eyes upon me, questioning.

[1] "You're home. How has your day been?"
[2] "Marissa. Where have you been all day?"
action: 2
response: She seems confronted, her head lowering. "Just at work. There's a lady I help... it's housekeeping. Nothing glamourous. How was your day?"

[1] "I've just... looked around your house a little."
[2] "Fine. Why do you ask?"
[3] "I've had a pleasant stay. Thanks for all your kindness."
action: 1
response: I feel a twinge of something unpleasant in my chest. Treacherously, my lip twitches. Marissa's eyes, wide and unsettlingly clear, flick down to my mouth, then meet my eyes seriously. That vague look enters her expression again.

"Of course." She closes her eyes for a moment before staring at me seriously. "Helena... I'm sure you'd do no harm here." She almost reaches for my arm, then seems to think better of it. The silence swells.

[1] "I'll let you get on with your business."
action: 1
response: Marissa clears her throat. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be out soon. Please don't mind me." She walks off down the hallway and I am again left alone.
action: You look at the handbag
response: A soft fabric handbag with a shoulder strap. I can see something inside it.
action: You look in handbag
response: The contents of the handbag are neat and few. A purse, a keyring and a piece of paper.
action: You take the keyring and the paper
response: No... as a guest, I think I need to be more mindful than that. One action at a time.
action: You take the keyring
response: Taken.
action: You take the paper
response: (the piece of paper)
Taken.
action: You examine keyring
response: A metal keyring, with an intricately plaited decoration of thread and beads trailing from it. On the ring are a well-used mortice key and a gold mortice key.
action: You examine paper
response: (the piece of paper)
It's a little memo, written in a stern hand. "Marissa. Kindly make the arrangements today as discussed. The white roses are appreciated. Everything else you'll need is in my room. Estelle."
action: You go north
response: Hallway (south end)
The carpeted hallway extends away to the north. A door in the west wall leads to the bathroom and a door in the east wall leads to Marissa's studio. The living room is to the south.

I can hear the shower running.
action: You go north
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
action: You open the east door witthe well-used mortice key
response: I unlock Marissa's bedroom door.
action: You go to the east
response: (first opening Marissa's bedroom door)
Marissa's Bedroom
Marissa's bedroom is initially confusing to the eye; the walls are almost entirely covered in an eccentric display of unframed paintings and tiny mirrors in mismatched frames. Lace curtains drape over a window in the north wall, letting dappled light filter onto a white-framed bed. In the dimly-lit south side of the room is a bedside table, covered in a pale floral cloth and a reading lamp. A white wardrobe, far less intimidating than the one in the spare room, is here too. The door is to the west.
action: You look at the paintings
response: The paintings are nearly all landscapes, with any human figures silhouetted or obscured by scenery. Every painting seems almost to glitter with creativity, and yet there is a sense of longing to all of them - each waterfall is not dramatically foregrounded, but lingers, hazy, behind a layer of mist; each sky seems to stretch endlessly, not quite delivering on the promise of a horizon.
action: You examine the wardrobe
response: A tall white wardrobe for clothes.
action: You open the wardrobe
response: I open the white wardrobe, revealing some clothes.
action: You examine the clothes
response: Marissa's clothes - mostly simple garments, with a few lacy affairs tossed in.
action: You examine mirrors
response: There are dark eyes everywhere, blinking at me from every wall. The mirrors are framed in a whimsical assortment of frames, ranging from dark wrought iron, to embossed silver, to raw timber.
action: You examine the curtains
response: The window looks out to the north. The neighbourhood looks lifeless beneath the grey sky.
action: You look at the table
response: A little round table with a floral cloth draped over it. A drawer, its face rounded with the curve of the table, faces towards the bed.
action: You open the drawer
response: Around me, all over the walls, blonde women lunge forward in reflective fragments. Dizzy, I focus on the drawer. There is a small diary inside, its cover hand painted.
action: You examine diary
response: The cover is a painting of a girl, her head rested on her folded arms, melancholy blue eyes staring out beyond the image.
action: You open diary
response: It is important that I know as much as possible about Marissa's situation in order to help her. Later, I am sure she will understand to thank me for my concern. I remove the diary from the drawer and spread it open on the bed.

There are several pages filled with text. I read the first entry.

"Life outside the studio window blurs on without me. Sometimes, when the loneliness is at its strongest, I move my easel close to the door and hide behind it, watching the neighbourhood's movements. There is a little old lady across the road who I often see struggling to carry her groceries inside from the bus. No-one is ever there to help her. I wonder what her name is, why she is alone."
Excuse me?
action: You read diary
response: I continue reading.

"I'm trying to keep to my schedule. Cleaning, always cleaning. Nothing is ever clean enough. Nothing is ever essential enough. I look away from my canvas and everything seems without essence and covered in dirt."
action: Continue
response: "Estelle is the kindest employer I could ever hope for. Today she told me a little more about her work at the opera theatre. I listened, spell-bound as a child. I think she knows I have no anecdotes of my own to contribute, so she just talks and smiles kindly. I guess what she is is a friend, though I retreat from the word with uncertainty."
action: Keep going
response: "I am sure the sunrise is influencing my palette - dear Matisse would not approve! - but oh, the studio is spectacular in the dawn light. I paint all night until I am too exhausted to think, and then I sleep and sleep and sometimes I can't get out of bed. The itch of tears is fresh in my eyes when I wake because I dream of such pretty things and then I wake, and I stare at my blank ceiling, blankness reflected in such blank eyes."
action: You continue
response: "Oh Nan, how is it that I live like this? I dreamt of you and I hope I keep your house well enough for you because I do still miss you, every day. I hope you are in peace."
action: Continue
response: "Coming back from Estelle's today, I ran into Helena Jevne. She is still as strikingly beautiful as she was back in school. And goodness, so tall. Nervous as I was, I could not escape from our conversation for over two hours... but in retrospect, I am glad. She seems such a strong-minded, sensible person. Better-adjusted than me, most likely. She has brought me back from this slumber of blankness, I think. I dare to hope that maybe I will see her again."
action: Continue
response: "Alone. It bites at me over and over and over and I have forgotten my schedule, but it seems so meaningless so meaningless so"
action: Continue
response: "I almost can't look at my paintings after they are painted. The loss of that moment of creation is painful. I dreamt of so many things, once. Now I hold onto a series of singular dreams, fluttering against my palms as I grasp them, almost too afraid to breathe for fear of crushing their delicacy, and I paint them with a mechanical concentration. And can't look back. I am beginning on the cliffside I saw in my dream. I hope it will be enough for now."
action: Keep going
response: "Emails. So nerve-wracking. Of course I am intimidated by her; her wisdom and her worldliness must see right through my meek existence. 'Purity' is what I value, I tell myself. In the face of another human being, though, my convictions waver... and even if I weren't so shy, I don't know if I could let a person into my life. Especially... well, oh. I don't know."
action: Keep going
response: This page is smeared with dark stains, rendering most of it illegible. "... phone call in the night ... ecked and the key wasn't there ... rror had been smashed in viole ..."
action: You keep going
response: The dark stains continue on this page, and the following. "... been here for over a week now ... re white roses from the garden, stained with hairdye! She must have tak ... aints, everywhere! ... drawer, found the most terrible thing but didn't dare ..."
action: Continue
response: I flip through the pages, reading the few fragments I can, all written in a hand seemingly overcome by distress. "... ntire mirror covered in plasters! and I ... heart-stopping crashes and then a thud on my door ... ound the mark of a fist! What does sh ... scraping at the brickwork ... a knife, no less! and bloo ..."
action: You keep going
response: The rest of the pages are blank.

From somewhere to the west, I can hear Marissa calling for me. My clammy palms betray an inexplicable apprehension.
action: You look at what you're carrying with you
response: Feeling in my skirt pockets, my fingers brush against Estelle's memo, a keyring, a scrap of paper, a study door key, a medicine cabinet key, my bedroom door key and the cold, unnerving steel of a kitchen knife. I'm wearing my beige overcoat and my blouse and skirt.

I thought there was something else I was carrying before... well, perhaps not.
action: Describe the surroundings
response: Marissa's bedroom is initially confusing to the eye; the walls are almost entirely covered in an eccentric display of unframed paintings and tiny mirrors in mismatched frames. Lace curtains drape over a window in the north wall, letting dappled light filter onto a white-framed bed. In the dimly-lit south side of the room is a bedside table, covered in a pale floral cloth and a reading lamp. A white wardrobe, far less intimidating than the one in the spare room, is here too. The door is to the west.
action: You go west
response: I quickly return the diary.

The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.

Marissa runs past in a tearful blur, almost crashing into me as she dashes into the bedroom.
action: You go east
response: Marissa's bedroom is initially confusing to the eye; the walls are almost entirely covered in an eccentric display of unframed paintings and tiny mirrors in mismatched frames. Lace curtains drape over a window in the north wall, letting dappled light filter onto a white-framed bed. In the dimly-lit south side of the room is a bedside table, covered in a pale floral cloth and a reading lamp. A white wardrobe, far less intimidating than the one in the spare room, is here too. The door is to the west.

Marissa is here. Her small frame heaves with silent sobbing, her eyes unfocused.
action: You go north
response: "Never mind," I mutter. Marissa's eyes glaze over for a moment, and then - as though I had never disturbed her - she resumes her crying.
action: You go west
response: Feeling particularly cautious, I lock the door behind me. There could be all manner of danger in this house, and I feel obliged to keep Marissa safe.

The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
action: You look in it
response: The interior of the cabinet is stained with age, but spotlessly clean. Inside, I can see a canister of Valium.
action: You examine the Valium
response: Diazepam: anxiolytic, hypnotic. For treating symptoms of anxiety, agitation and insomnia. Take one tablet once a day as directed by doctor.
action: You look in the vase
response: In the vase is a cluster of roses.
action: You look through the hole
response: I lean in towards the hole and look through to the dimly-lit master bedroom. I can see the shadowy figure of Marissa hunched into herself on the bed, oddly silhouetted by the window behind her. Her face is flecked with reflected light from the mirrors on the bedroom walls, highlighting the tears on her cheeks.
action: You look at the window
response: The huge window could easily be mistaken for a door, only it doesn't seem to be openable. It looks out onto an isolated street.
action: Go south
response: It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with a handbag placed on top and two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You look at the ornaments
response: They're crude and disfigured, limbs out of proportion and faces melted into disturbing expressions - screams, sighs, grimaces. They're certainly not what I would choose to display in my own living room.
action: You go west
response: The kitchen has a dated feel to it; a laminate bench runs around two walls of the room, and white tiles line the wall above an aging sink and stove. An old fridge is tucked into the far corner of the room, and several potted plants decorate the bench around the spotless appliances.

A calendar and old-fashioned cordless phone hang on the wall near the door leading east.
action: Go west
response: There's nowhere to go in that direction. The only obvious exit is east (to the living room).
action: Dial 1
response: (on the telephone handset)
(first taking the telephone handset)
I don't really have cause to call her again. Besides, that stiff voice sends a chill up my spine.
action: Go east
response: I replace the telephone handset on the base.

It's a beige little living room; the offering of pale light filtering from the entry hall to the south somehow doesn't help to shake the sleepy, lifeless feeling here. An undersized dining table forms the centrepiece of the room, with a handbag placed on top and two chairs pushed beneath it. Wedged into the northwest corner of the room is a television, an old-fashioned armchair tucked up next to it. Against the north wall to the east is an open display cabinet with a single shelf of ornaments visible inside.

A door to the north leads to the hallway, a door in the west wall leads to the kitchen and a door in the east wall leads to the study. The entry hall is to the south.
action: You examine the paintings
response: A stack of old paintings. They can't have been touched for years - even inside the drawer, they've somehow managed to accumulate a thin layer of dust. Their subjects all seem to be women relaxing together in various settings - under parasols in a scenic park, by a fireplace in a cosy living room, lazing on a drifting canal boat.

Another new painting. This one is so messy it's difficult to be certain of the details, but it looks to be a figure of a blonde giantess attacking a human female with a knife. The giantess figure is apparently translucent: within her, another female is visible, her mouth frozen in a scream.
action: You examine the duvet
response: Which do I mean, the blankets or the duvet?
action: Blue
response: Dark blue. It looks warm.
action: You think about yourself
response: Why should I be afraid of whatever is inside me? I have every right to companionship. I am the only one who could possibly appreciate someone like Marissa. She needs me.
action: You examine the mirror
response: I find myself unable to focus on the mirror. My vision fills with black when I try to look at it.
action: You examine vine
response: From here, it appears that the rose vine has laid claim to the entire fence.
action: You examine the blinds
response: Plastic venetian blinds. Cream-coloured.
action: Look around
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You examinthe double-doors
response: They're bevelled and panelled, and stained dark like the rest of the cupboard.
action: You look at the shelves
response: Several shelves supporting a variety of bed linens. There'd be room for my clothes in here.
action: You think
response: About what, specifically?
action: You think about the painting
response: I can't begin to imagine what this is supposed to mean! Is this some obscure message from Marissa?
action: You pull the bed
response: It is fixed in place.
action: You wake
response: As far as I'm aware, I'm awake.
action: Look around
response: This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You look at the window
response: The window mostly looks out onto the fence between Marissa's property and her neighbour's. The fence itself is plain chain-link, but some privacy is offered by the climbing rose vine.

The sky outside is overcast and uninviting.

Cream-coloured venetian blinds are in their compressed position above the window.
action: Search window
response: (on the bed)
I sit down on the bed.

>(first getting off the bed)
From here, it appears that the rose vine has laid claim to the entire fence.
action: Blue
response: Soft.
action: You look around
response: Helena's Bedroom (on the bed)
This is my room, at least for now. It is remarkably clean, the walls a warm off-white. The bed rests against the west wall, reflected in a portrait-sized mirror facing the foot of the bed. Right of the mirror, in the east wall, is an open door, and right of that is an imposing oak cupboard. A window in the north wall overlooks the bed.
action: You look at the table
response: It's completely bare. Not even a clock or a lamp to break up the surface.
action: Clean table
response: (first getting off the bed)
That would be pointless.
action: Search table
response: Although the table is bare, I think I can see some scratches in the wood: on the north edge, there are 3 notches, on the east edge, there are 4 notches and on the south edge, there is 1 notch.
action: You look at the scratches
response: (the bedside table)
It's completely bare. Not even a clock or a lamp to break up the surface.
action: Turn table
response: Nothing obvious happens.
action: You examine the gold key
response: It's a mortice key, most likely fitting a door.
action: You look at the keyring
response: A metal keyring, with an intricately plaited decoration of thread and beads trailing from it. On the ring are Marissa's bedroom door key and a gold mortice key.
action: You go to the east
response: The carpeted hallway extends away to the north and south. In the west wall is a door leading to the guest bedroom, and in the east wall is the door to Marissa's bedroom.
action: You go south
response: (first trying to open the front door)
This is hardly the time to abandon Marissa!
action: You lock the front door
response: (with the gold mortice key)
I ensure the front door is securely locked. For Marissa's own protection.

I lock the front door.
action: Go east
response: (first unlocking Marissa's bedroom door with Marissa's bedroom door key, then opening Marissa's bedroom door)
Marissa's Bedroom
Marissa's bedroom is initially confusing to the eye; the walls are almost entirely covered in an eccentric display of unframed paintings and tiny mirrors in mismatched frames. Lace curtains drape over a window in the north wall, letting dappled light filter onto a white-framed bed. In the dimly-lit south side of the room is a bedside table, covered in a pale floral cloth and a reading lamp. A white wardrobe, far less intimidating than the one in the spare room, is here too. The door is to the west.

Marissa is here. She weeps steadily into one hand.
action: You examine Marissa
response: She glances up from crying and meets my eyes for the briefest of moments, her gaze watery and fearful.
action: Y.
response: Marissa looks at me with teary eyes, a startling red ringing the grey irises. I hesitate, sensing the likely gravity of this conversation. Should I talk to her now?
[1] "Why are you crying?"
action: 1
response: Marissa swallows and just stares.

[1] "Is someone trying to hurt you? I might know who."
action: 1
response: She looks disbelieving and glances around the room, as though looking for an exit.

I follow her gaze across the dozens of tiny mirrors on the walls. In each one, I see a different angle of the face of the woman I killed. My pocket feels suddenly heavy and I slip my hand in there, sweatily clutching the handle of my knife.

[1] "It's that woman, isn't it? The one you work for. Marissa, you deserve so much more. She came here today, you know. Just walked straight in the front door. I won't let her hurt you."
[2] "I won't hurt you, Marissa."
[3] "I know what it's like to be alone."
action: 1
response: Marissa's words come out almost in a whisper, but they strike me as painfully as an open palm. "What are you doing, Helena? What do you want from me?"

My consternation must show in my features. Marissa, apparently emboldened, says, "I think... W-what I think is that you've been trying to trap me here. In my own house." She takes a deep breath. "B-but I don't think you're capable of really hurting anyone other than yourself." She is visibly shaking. I might be, too.

"Helena?"

I pluck listlessly at the bandages on my arm. Damnably, I don't think she is wrong. She stares at me and I understand - completely, at last - that this has to end here.

I try to speak but my tongue seems to have closed off my throat.
I glance back at her one last time - that perfectly preserved girl - and start walking down the hallway. My eyes fall on the fist-shaped dent where I "knocked" on her bedroom door my second night here, the bathroom mirror, completely obscured by adhesive bandages, the once-white roses turned ruddy as they drink their vase of hair dye. I pass through the living room and glance briefly at the porcelain ornament smashed into pieces on the floor.

Yes, everything she said about me was true.

I open the front door.
action: You repeat
response: The available options are:

[1] "It's that woman, isn't it? The one you work for. Marissa, you deserve so much more. She came here today, you know. Just walked straight in the front door. I won't let her hurt you."
[2] "I won't hurt you, Marissa."
[3] "I know what it's like to be alone."
action: 2
response: We look at each other quietly. Marissa's face is soft and open. 'Impressionable' seems the fitting word, as though I could mould her features with a gesture. The edge of a sunset filters in across the bed, softly meshed with the shadow of the lace curtain.

"I saw what you've written about me," I eventually confess. She looks afraid, lowering her eyelashes. "Sometimes," I explain, "fear can distort your perception of events. You needn't be afraid, though. Anything I have done is only to protect you. I'm here, now. You don't have to be alone anymore." She lifts her eyes to meet mine and slowly takes a breath, about to say something - but seems to choke on her words.

I lean forward and embrace her gently. Her little frame, at first so tense, eventually softens in my arms. "What I dream of," she murmurs, "is a life of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of trouble or depression." It sounds like a quote, but the sentiment is clear to me. I smile into her hair, holding her closer. She slumps into me, quiet and submissive.
With me, she will be safe. And I know she will not stray from me again.
action: You kill Marissa
response: I shiver. No.
action: You give the keyring to Marissa
response: I think I'll keep that to myself.
action: Y.
response: Marissa looks at me with teary eyes, a startling red ringing the grey irises. I hesitate, sensing the likely gravity of this conversation. Should I talk to her now?
[1] "Why are you crying?"
action: 1
response: Marissa swallows and just stares.

[1] "Is someone trying to hurt you? I might know who."
action: 1
response: She looks disbelieving and glances around the room, as though looking for an exit.

I follow her gaze across the dozens of tiny mirrors on the walls. In each one, I see a different angle of the face of the woman I killed. My pocket feels suddenly heavy and I slip my hand in there, sweatily clutching the handle of my knife.

[1] "It's that woman, isn't it? The one you work for. Marissa, you deserve so much more. She came here today, you know. Just walked straight in the front door. I won't let her hurt you."
[2] "I won't hurt you, Marissa."
[3] "I know what it's like to be alone."
action: 1
response: She shifts away from me a little, sliding across the duvet, and I feel a pang of irritation.

"I know there's something going on, Marissa. Please don't try to deceive me. Your tears are evidence enough." I brush her cheekbone gently with my thumb. She blinks and flinches. My right hand, still in my pocket, twitches.
action: You press the space
response: I hesitate, moistening my lips. "I'm sure you're being exploited. You..." She isn't looking at me. I catch her by the chin and force her eyes to meet mine. "You make yourself an easy target, all alone here." I continue. Her breathing is lightly audible. It rings in my ears like the ocean. "I don't think you understand what people are like. They can't possibly understand how to appreciate you."

"What are you talking about." Her words fall flat; more of a statement than a question. It is obvious she knows exactly what I am talking about; the girl is addled by years of solitude. "But I am here to end that! Don't you see?" I smile, my heart almost leaping out my throat. She just stares.

I lean forward to smooth out the tear-clumped tangles in her hair. Frustratingly, she edges back further. "There was a girl before, you know," I explain, "But she and I used to argue now and then."

"Was there?" she asks. She is almost flat on the bed, now. I think I am leaning a little too heavily on her abdomen, but I feel I shouldn't draw away just yet. Her body is so warm against my hand. And there, she is crying again. Her eyes are wide. She looks shocked, but that will pass. "Just hush," I say, stroking her hair. "Hush." Her crying soon fades to silence.
I curl up close to her, burying my face in her still-warm neck. I lie with her, long after it goes cold.