Marika the Offering
by revgiblet (2007)

You play a young girl, trapped in a tower room and in fear for her life.

action: %
response: Loading game...

An ADRIFT text adventure by revgiblet (revgiblet@gmail.com). This is v1.0 (2007)

Type story at any time for the backstory.

Type thanks for a list of credits.

I am standing in a room that has been meticulously constructed from cold, grey stones in a very simple manner. My eyes are hypnotically drawn to the main feature in the west wall, a large double window that swings open in the evening breeze. A wide single bed sits in the centre of the room. I know from experience that the bed is incredibly comfortable and it is currently taking all of my willpower to resist the temptation to lie down and drift into oblivion. The bed is made up with a soft looking pillow and has a blanket wrapped round it.

It appears to me that this room once served a less sinister purpose, for there is a fireplace built into the north wall. The fireplace is as empty as my heart. A thick wooden shelf is fixed to the wall above, on which rests a burning candle that gives the room an eerie glow. The low stone ceiling separates me from the heavens and God above. In the south wall is a thick metal door; the only way out of the tower alive.

A full-length portrait mirror is afixed to the east wall, opposite the window. It reflects the horizon scene, creating the illusion that the room is larger than it is. A rickety wooden chair has been placed beside the mirror. The air is musty and offends my nostrils. My remaining life can be measured in heartbeats. I must act!
action: Story
response: My mother told me the story of the curse when I was seven. Every child knew it off by heart, for it was the reason that the village was shunned by even the poorest beggar and cripple. It was the reason why we were alone and downcast.

My mother wept as she told it. I didn't know why then, but I do now. She feared that I would be The Offering, the one who must die to buy peace from The Count. It turned out that she was right. My mother could often see these things coming.

The Count is what we, in the old tongue, call a vampyre; the undead. He used to be a nobleman but fell into darkness in some way. The legends are not clear, though my mother told me that she believed it was because of a woman. As a child this was something else that I did not understand, but I am beginning to know what she might have meant.

The cause of his curse is irrelevant, as is the reason why he chose our village to be the one he torments. All that matters is that he did choose us. He made a bargain with the elders of our village many generations ago. He promised that he would leave us in peace on one condition. Every fifteen years the purest and most beautiful maiden in the village must be delivered over to him. I was born the night of his last visit to the village. Many considered it an omen; a prophetic gesture that I was to be his next victim.

As I grew my parents prayed that I would fall ill and become weak, or that I would be ugly. The prayers of the villagers have remained unanswered for years and years now, and the prayers of my parents were no different. I grew strong and, as I am often told, blossomed into beauty.

As the years passed and the dread night approached my parents begged me to flee the village. They offered to marry me off to a farmer in the next village, but the elders opposed them. It seemed that, to protect their own daughters, they had already decided that the timing of my birth meant I was to be the one. My parents were powerless, for was it not true that of all the young girls in the village I was amongst the finest and prettiest?
action: Look around
response: (Press a key)

At that moment the guards entered the room. My mother stepped back, looking anxious.

"I'm sorry. It is time," Bogdan, the eldest guard, spoke apologetically.

"I understand," my mother said, biting her bottom lip. She looked at me again, willing me to understand and to fight my fate. The world seemed to pass in slow motion as I gazed at the men who had come to escort me to the place of my death. Bogdan was a friend of my father, and I could see in his eyes the anguish that only a man with the imagination to picture his own daughter could feel. Enric was a few years older than me, and the regret in his eyes was the loss of what could have been.

"Goodbye Marika, and may God go with you." My mother kissed me on the cheek, gently ran her hand through my hair and fled from the room. Bogdan nodded at me and took me by the hand. The men led me from the room and out into the twilight of the empty village. It was considered bad luck to see the Offering on the night of her departure. It was safer to stay at home behind closed doors and pretend that nothing terrible was about to happen. Overcome, I stumbled and fell to my knees. I felt the gentle hands of Enric under my arms.

"I do not...I do not know if I can do it," I whispered, every word an effort.

"I will carry you." Enric lifted me gently as Bogdan patted his shoulder. I looked into Enric's face as he began to walk towards the Tower that lay just outside the village and felt the darkness of sleep cover me for the first time in about thirty six hours. In my dreams Enric's face changed into that of my mother as she mouthed the same words at me over and over again - Keep him out!
action: You look at your surroundings
response: (Press a key)

I awoke with a start to find that I was lying on a comfortable bed. Enric was leaning over me, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to wake you. I wanted...I wanted you to stay asleep. I thought it would be...better."

"I am glad that you did," I murmered, recalling my mother's final words.

Enric kissed me on the cheek and stood up. He wiped the eye from his face and turned away.

"Marika...I must tell you something..." Enric spoke, weighing his words carefully.

"Enric!" barked Bogdan, "Remember what the Elders said! You will not say anything!"

Enric's shoulders stiffened and, even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell that he was wrestling with something heavy. Finally his shoulders slumped and he began to walk towards the door.

"Goodbye Marika. I'm sorry," he said with conviction.

Bogdan stood in the doorway, looking at me with grim regret. In a moment they were both gone. The door slammed shut and I heard the scraping of a key in the lock and the grinding of several bolts being shut. I listened for a moment longer to the clatter of their feet on the stone stairwell and then I was alone.

The tower had been a feature of the village for generations before my birth. It stood, tall and imposing, on the outskirts of our land as a permanent reminder of our bargain. It remained locked and bolted for years until the single room at its summit was needed. The only ones who ever saw the room were the guards and The Offering.

Everything in me wanted to sink back into the comfort of the bed and let death overtake me. My body ached for sleep and my heart longed for numbness. But just as I thought I would lose the battle I felt my mother's spirit arc through my heart. I am a Bojin and I will NOT give up! I willed my legs to respond and I lifted myself from the bed until I found myself standing in the room that was supposed to be my mortuary. I glanced out of the window to see the sun slowly slipping behind the hills. My head throbbed and my legs wavered. I did not have much time, but I formed a grim resolve to try and change my fate. I would not accept this. I would be alone here until the morning, when Bogdan and Enric would return expecting to remove my corpse. I would prevent The Count from gaining entrance to the Tower, and when Bogdan and Enric returned I would leave with them. I would show myself to be my mother's daughter. My life depended on it.

I forced myself to focus on the room and gazed around, battling against slumber. My fate will be decided in the next half an hour.
action: You look around
response: (Press a key)

I am standing in a room that has been meticulously constructed from cold, grey stones in a very simple manner. My eyes are hypnotically drawn to the main feature in the west wall, a large double window that swings open in the evening breeze. A wide single bed sits in the centre of the room. I know from experience that the bed is incredibly comfortable and it is currently taking all of my willpower to resist the temptation to lie down and drift into oblivion. The bed is made up with a soft looking pillow and has a blanket wrapped round it.

It appears to me that this room once served a less sinister purpose, for there is a fireplace built into the north wall. The fireplace is as empty as my heart. A thick wooden shelf is fixed to the wall above, on which rests a burning candle that gives the room an eerie glow. The low stone ceiling separates me from the heavens and God above. In the south wall is a thick metal door; the only way out of the tower alive.

A full-length portrait mirror is afixed to the east wall, opposite the window. It reflects the horizon scene, creating the illusion that the room is larger than it is. A rickety wooden chair has been placed beside the mirror. The air is musty and offends my nostrils. My remaining life can be measured in heartbeats. I must act!
action: You look under the bed
response: I clamber onto my knees and look under the bed but I see nothing but more bare flagstones. I stand, feeling dizzy as I do so.
action: You look in the mirror
response: I look at myself in the mirror; standing against the backdrop of the countryside that can be seen from the window. I barely recognise myself. The linen frock clings to my lithe frame like a sack. My complexion has always been pale, but tonight lack of sleep and overdose of fear have made my skin almost translucent. The blood has drained from my usually scarlet lips and my large brown eyes peer into the face of a stranger. My long hair, raven and fine, hugs my face and shoulders almost as if it were looking for a companion in this dark time. A sensation at the back of my thoughts is nagging me, trying to tell me something. Something about my hair...

I run my fingers around the mirror but it seems to be fixed firmly to the wall and there appears to be nothing unusual about it.
action: You feel the hair
response: Driven by some unknown prompting I begin to run my hand through my hair. As my finger touches something sharp I withdraw it hastily. A second, more cautious check reveals a hairpin that shouldn't be there. Unbidden, the memory comes to me of my final meeting with my mother. As we parted she touched my hair. At the time I thought it nothing more than a tender gesture but it seems that she had ulterior motives. Thanking God for her ingenuity I place the hairpin carefully on the shelf above the fireplace and ponder on a use for it.
action: You look at the chair
response: The chair is clearly a once-loved heirloom that has fallen into a state of disrepair. Intricate patterns swirl over the legs and seat. It seems to wobble even as I look at it. I would not trust it to hold my weight.
action: You sit on the chair
response: Despite the urgency of my situation I am highly aware of my aching feet and weary legs. I decide to rest for a second, and not trusting myself to get up again if I use the bed I opt to use the chair.

I drag it away from the wall and sit, but the chair is nearly as old as the tower itself and is no longer able to stand the strain. There is a creaking noise for a moment before the chair self-destructs and deposits me on the stone floor. I crack my knee painfully on the floor and cry out in discomfort.

After a little while I am able to stand again. The chair has been reduced to a pile of wood. I rub my knee and regret my chosen action.
action: You look at the wood
response: The wood is formed in a chaotic pile consisting of a variety of shapes and sizes. Although some parts appear to have rotted there is a fair amount of sound wood here.
action: You get the wood
response: There is no need for me to take anything. If I need to use an object then I will do so as appropriate.
action: You look at the shelf
response: The shelf is made of thick oak and fixed firmly to the wall.
action: You look at the fireplace
response: A quick investigation of the empty stone fireplace reveals that it hasn't been used in a long time. I peer cautiously up into the chimney; a dark tunnel that ends in a square of twilight.
action: You make the fire
response: As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: You put the wood in the fireplace
response: I pile up an armful of wood and carry it across the room to deposit it in the fireplace. I repeat the process two more times to complete the task.

The fireplace now contains a pile of wood ready to be burnt. I look at the candle and the pile of wood and my experience tells me that, as it stands, the flame is not furious enough to catch the wood. If I want to start a fire I will need to find something that will burn well and provide a more substantial conflagration.
action: You examine the bed
response: Wary, for it is almost as if the bed whispers a siren song as I look at it, I begin to examine the cot. The blanket is tucked in tightly but yields to a sharp tug from me. I find nothing unusual under it. The mattress is thick and tightly packed with soft and springy innards. It would be easy to sink into it and forget all of my troubles. As I lift the pillow a small piece of paper wafts out from underneath it and floats gently to the ground. I replace the pillow and turn my attention back to the room.
action: You read the paper
response: I reach down and take the piece of paper in my hands. I force my gaze to focus on the neat handwriting that has been marked on the paper. The message reads...

Marika. I am unable to say goodbye to you as I would wish to. I want you to gaze into your own beautiful eyes and breathe yourself a goodbye from me.

The paper drops from my limp grasp and settles again on the hard floor. This message was clearly meant for me to find, but who left it? And why? My head aches but I have the feeling that within the message is a hidden meaning that I must endeavour to find.
action: You breathe on the mirror
response: Driven by a sudden flash of inspiration I move over to the mirror and, as the message on the paper predicted, find myself gazing into my own eyes.

Prompted by the rest of the message I breathe in deeply and exhale over the mirror. I repeat the gesture. As the mirror mists over I notice marks; marks where the mirror is not fogging up. My heart skips a beat as I continue to breathe out over the rest of the mirror, revealing more and more of what seems to be a hidden message.

By the time that I have finished I am feeling light-headed and unsteady on my feet, but I appear to have uncovered a message.

I commit it to memory as the mirror slowly clears.
action: You read the note
response: I see nothing that will help me.

Marika. I am unable to say goodbye to you as I would wish to. I want you to gaze into your own beautiful eyes and breathe yourself a goodbye from me.
action: You look under the mattress
response: I prod the mattress. It is thick and packed tightly with something soft but dense. This makes it deceptively heavy. I manage, with some difficulty, to get my hands into a position to facilitate the lifting of the mattress and begin to strain.

The exertion shortly begins to make me feel light-headed and under normal circumstances I would cease this activity. These, however, are not normal circumstances. The words on the mirror drive me to this action, and I will not let it be in vain.

Driven by a desire to solve the mystery of the message I call on reserves of hidden strength and manage to lift the mattress enough to see, tucked out of sight between it and the frame, a thin metal rod. With reflexes born of desperation I reach down and roll the rod onto the floor as the mattress drops back onto the bedframe with a thud. Panting heavily I lean against the wall to regain some strength before considering the role that the metal rod will play in my survival.
action: You open the door
response: I try the door. It is locked and does not budge.
action: You look at the window
response: The window opens out of the tower providing a superlative view of the sun setting over the surrounding countryside. Under different circumstances I would probably consider it one of the most romantic scenes I had ever seen. Instead I see it for what it is - an opportunity for The Count to enter the room. The window itself is constructed of very thick glass and seems quite secure in its wooden frame. It swings gently in the breeze. There are handles on the window that allow it to be opened from both the inside and - unusually - the outside. Below me is a considerable drop to the rough ground.
action: Close window
response: It seems like the most obvious thing to do. I walk over to the window, reach out and shut it.
action: You put the rod in the handles
response: As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: You put the rod through the handles
response: As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.

As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: You look at the handles
response: A thin wooden handle is built into the frame of the window. In the handle I can see a small keyhole, presumably to allow the window to be locked. There is another handle on the outside of the window. It seems that this window was built with deadly intent, for it may also be opened from the outside.
action: You use rod
response: I reach out and take the hairpin from the shelf. The hairpin is too small to use on the door so I make my way across the room to the window and, having pulled the window so it is as shut as I can make it, I begin to work on the lock.

My hand is shaking through exhaustion and I do not rightly know what I am doing but God is with me. After a few moments of fumbling and twisting there is a tiny click. I remove the hairpin from the tiny keyhole to see that my labour has bent and warped it. I then hesitantly push the window. It remains firm. Again I try, this time with as much force as I can muster in my weakened state. The window does not move. I have successfully secured it against The Count. Hopefully the thick glass will be sufficient to thwart his entry.

I respectfully place the hairpin back on the shelf and ponder my next move.

As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: You examine the door
response: The door appears to be locked and bolted from the outside. It also seems extremely sturdy. There is a large keyhole for, it would suggest, a very large key. The door doesn't quite reach the floor, leaving a large gap between the stones and the bottom of the metal. The most chilling thing that I discover are what appear to be deep scratches engraved in the metal - as though someone had tried to claw their way out of the room. I shudder as I think about it.

I yawn. I am finding it difficult to fight off sleep.
action: You examine the keyhole
response: A flash of inspiration strikes me and with a great sense of urgency I yank the thick blanket from the bed and pull it over to the door. The gap under the door is nowhere big enought for a human to crawl under but until I have a better understanding of what The Count is capable of I will err on the side of caution.

The blanket is thick and heavy, and with some effort I manage to force it under the door making a barrier of sorts. As it stands nothing will be able to come through the breach and I pray that The Count will lack the necessary strength to remove it swiftly.

I need to decide if I wish to examine the door lock or the window lock.
action: You open the pillow
response: Open what?
action: You put the paper in the fireplace
response: As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: Light paper
response: I wonder about burning some paper to start a fire but I don't seem to have enough paper to achieve my goal. The paper that I found under the pillow is not large enough to burn for more than a fraction of a second.
action: You describe your surroundings
response: I am standing in a room that has been meticulously constructed from cold, grey stones in a very simple manner. The large window in the west wall has been shut and I have managed to lock it. If my mother is right then the thick glass should be sufficient to keep The Count at bay. A wide single bed sits in the centre of the room. I know from experience that the bed is incredibly comfortable and it is currently taking all of my willpower to resist the temptation to lie down and drift into oblivion. The bed is currently without a blanket, but that makes it no less inviting. A flat and sturdy looking length of iron rod lies on the floor beside the bed. A small piece of paper is situated on the stone floor.

It appears to me that this room once served a less sinister purpose, for there is a fireplace built into the north wall. A pile of broken and twisted wood lies in the fireplace, imploring me to light it. A thick wooden shelf is fixed to the wall above, on which rests a burning candle that gives the room an eerie glow. Having been used to lock the window, the hairpin on the shelf is bent and twisted beyond recognition. The low stone ceiling separates me from the heavens and God above. In the south wall is a thick metal door; the only way out of the tower alive. The bulky woollen blanket from the bed is crammed under the door.

A full-length portrait mirror is afixed to the east wall, opposite the window. It reflects the horizon scene, creating the illusion that the room is larger than it is. The air is musty and offends my nostrils. My remaining life can be measured in heartbeats. I must act!
action: You put rod in the door keyhole
response: The picture of me trying to unlock the door using the iron rod is so absurd that it almost brings a smile to my face. Almost.
action: You examine the floor
response: The tightly-packed, perfectly square flagstones are cold and hard under my bare feet. I kneel and run my fingers across the stones, searching for something unusual. My breath catches in my throat as my fingers stumble carelessly across a flagstone that seems to be slightly raised in comparison to its neighbours. I check again. This flagstone is the twin of the others except for the fact that it is definitely loose. However, it's too heavy and my fingers are too thick to prise it up. There must be something in here that can help me!
action: Lift flagstone with rod
response: I decide to try and move the loose flagstone and it occurs to me that the iron rod might be perfectly suited to this task. I grip it tightly and slowly work the flat end into the thin gap between the flagstones.

When I believe that I have inserted the rod as far as I can I take a deep breath and begin to apply pressure. Lifting the stone is much easier than I thought it would be and within a few seconds I have managed to tip it enough to prise it out of the floor.

I cast the rod aside and begin to wonder what, if anything, might be contained within the dark cavity that I have uncovered...
action: You look in the cavity
response: I lie beside the hole in the floor and, with due prudence, put my hand into the darkness.

I have to rely purely on my sense of touch to discern if there is anything of interest in the hole. For a few seconds all I am able to feel is the cold, wet density of damp stone and a soft breeze, but after a moment of maneouvering I brush against something rough and soft. Nervously I grab the object and begin to pull it towards me.

As I do so I hear a tinkling noise. I pause as the sound moves away from me, but it is too late. I listen as something metallic slithers away, sounding like it's falling through a fissure below me. There is a further moment of silence before something clatters to the ground on the level below me. My imagination ponders the events that these sounds proclaim but I am not quite sure what to make of them. After this second of contemplation I continue my action and pull the object that I have grasped into the light.

I climb onto my knees with my prize, which appears to be a grubby old rag. As I unfold it a roll of parchment falls to the floor in front of me; the sole inhabitant of the cloth. I toss the rag to one aside, as it appears to have had no other purpose than to serve as a container for the parchment. I wipe my hand across my tired eyes and consider my next decision.
action: You read the parchment
response: I pick up the parchment from the floor and begin to read...

My Dearest Marika,

Forgive me for the complicated path that you must have walked to obtain this letter. I had no other choice and knew that your resourcefulness would be equal to the task. The elders of the village know well your mother's views on the subject of The Count and feared that she might attempt to intervene in events. As a result they declared it a capital offence for anyone to try and aid you in your plight. I desired greatly to help you but was afraid that Bogdan would hold me to account and that I would be forced to pay the ultimate price for aiding you. Bogdan is a good man, but he fears the elders and he fears The Count even more. I left a message for you on the mirror and a clue under your pillow. I had to phrase the clue as though it were a simple farewell message that wouldn't incriminate me - just in case it were seen by someone other than you. Again, forgive me but I knew that you would be able to solve the puzzle. You are a remarkable girl. I will try and speak with you before I must leave and hope that Bogdan allows it.

I pray that your mother is right; that The Count can be beaten but I do not know how. I have heard many amazing things about him. I have heard that he has the ability to turn into a bat as well as the capability to scale vertical surfaces.

I am sorry that I did not have the chance to say farewell properly.
To this end I wrote this letter and wrapped it in a rag with my silver crucifix. As you know, I hid the package under the loose flagstone and I hope that the crucifix will be of some comfort, if nothing else. I will be praying for you. Do not let my fear dampen your remarkable spirit.

Enric.

My head swims with the information. Enric! Of course! Only a guard would have the freedom to leave items for me in the tower. The message on the mirror was his doing, leading me to find the metal rod so that I could discover this letter under the flagstone. But Enric didn't only intend for me to find a letter. He made reference to his silver crucifix. It would be a helpful weapon in a fight against a vampyre, but it was not present with the parchment. I recall my actions as I discovered the letter and my imagination replays the sounds that I heard as I pulled the rag free from its prison. The metallic tinkling sound. The sound of something slithering away from me. My heart sinks as I piece everything together. Enric's silver crucifix must have fallen free of the rag as I moved it and dropped down a fissure in the stones to the stairwell below this room. It will do me little good down there. My one chance to turn the tables and I have lost it before I even knew what it was that I was losing!
I scream in frustration and throw the letter to the ground. What hope do I have now?
action: Light parchment
response: It suddenly occurs to me that the parchment could be very useful, just not in the way that was originally intended. I scoop the parchment from the floor and hold it over the candle on the shelf for a second. It catches and produces a reasonable flame. I then bend down and cast the burning parchment amongst the pyre that I have constructed in the fireplace.

I pray for it to produce flames amongst the wood and, after what feels like an eternity, I am heartened to see that the wood is indeed burning. I linger for another anxious minute to ensure that the blaze will continue and before long I am coughing on a plume of smoke.

I throw the candle onto the fire for the sake of it and rub my weeping eyes. I am feeling warmer already, and my body is driven even closer to the dangerous state of slumber.

My body aches with weariness. I don't think that I can resist sleep for much longer!
action: You put the rag in the keyhole
response: I remember a rumour that The Count possesses the ability to change his shape. The keyhole in the door is sizeable, possibly big enough to allow him entry through it.

With this in mind I scoop up the rag that I retrieved from under the floor and move purposely over to the door. Using all my strength I cram the rag into the keyhole until I am sure that it will no easy task to remove it. I can only pray that The Count will not be resourceful enough or strong enough to excavate it.
action: You look at the candle
response: The candle has long been consumed by the flames.
action: You put the flagstone on the hole
response: Grabbing the corners of the stone and heaving mightily I manage to return it to the hole in the floor. It crashes back to its original place with a satisfying crack. For some reason performing this action settles an unease that I had in my spirit.
action: You examine the walls
response: I run my hands along the wall, mesmorised by the sensation of the rough hewn stone under my fingertips. They are uneven and crude, and the mortar between them flakes under my touch. Despite this each single stone I examine seems to be fixed firmly in place.

The floor is a different matter, constructed from evenly cut and shaped flagstones that bear further examination.
action: You examine the rod
response: The metal rod is fairly thin and tapers into a flat end at one tip.
It is surprisingly light and clatters on the stones as I roll it over. I believe it to be made of iron and it seems to be fairly strong. I'm sure that it could serve a useful purpose in my quest to secure the room.
action: You examine the ceiling
response: I look to the heavens and see nothing but rock. The symbolic thought makes me wonder if even God has abandoned me.
action: Pray
response: Feeling lost and without hope I throw myself to my knees and begin to pour out my heart to God. I have not been praying for more than a minute when I suddenly get the sense that I am not alone.

I look around the room and see nothing, but get the feeling that I am not facing this challenge by myself. With renewed faith I stand again and begin to think about how to survive this night.

I am feeling dizzy and weak. My body is giving in to the demand for rest. I have just enough time and strength to drag myself over to the bed and collapse on it before the darkness overcomes me...
action: Look around
response: (Press a key)

My eyes open and drink in the sunlight but my ears are deafened by the sound of hammering fists and yelling voices outside the door. I lie paralysed by fear, expecting The Count to burst through the doorway at any second...but then I listen to the words.

"Marika! Marika! Are you all right?" screams a voice that I recognise.

I sit up and watch the door for a second. Someone has tried to remove the rag and the blanket and failed. My sluggish brain slowly pieces together the facts. I am alive, it is morning and someone is trying to get into the room but unable because I have secured it. As this last piece of information sinks in I jump off the bed with a gasp and rush over to the door.

With a sense of elation I pull the rag from the keyhole and bang on the door.

"It's me! Marika!"

"Marika!" a voice I recognise almost screams, and then I hear the scraping of a key being fumbled in the lock. The door swings open. Enric stands there, tears streaming down his cheeks, with Bogdan behind him looking astonished.

Unable to contain my delight I throw myself into Enric's shocked arms and he holds me tightly, neither of us speaking. The silence is broken by Bogdan grabbing my shoulder roughly.

"What have you done girl! You've doomed us all!" he yells, his face contorted with rage. Enric breaks the embrace to shove Bogdan away.

"She has shown more courage than anyone else in this village!" Enric shouts, fists clenched tightly.

"We'll need more than courage to disuade The Count from his terrible revenge!" Bogdan shrieks back.

Ignoring the confrontation I rush past them both and down the stairs, thrilling at the feel of wood under my feet.
action: You take the crucifix
response: (Press a key)

I push the door open and burst out into the daylight with Bogdan and Enric hot on my heels. I stumble around the base of the tower as though intoxicated, searching desperately for something to confirm the suspicions of my dream. I find it on the opposite side of the tower, on the grassy ground below the room's window.

Enric and Bogdan catch up shortly afterwards and stutter to a halt behind me, staring at same sight as me.

"What...what is that?" Bogdan whispers.

We are looking at a corpse, a twisted mess of bones and thick fluid. Decaying flesh hangs from the skeleton and two sharp teeth protrude obscenely from the skull. In my head I imagine a warped creature of the night striving to enter the room, struggling and failing but so absorbed in the task that he fails to see the sun rising over the horizon until it is too late...

"I think," I begin, a huge smile creeping across my face, "that it is over..."

I feel Enric's gentle hand on my shoulder and hear Bogdan begin to weep behind me. I look up into the sky. It seems to me the bluest and purest horizon that I have seen for a long while.

I plan to enjoy every second of it.
Congratulations!
action: You lie on the bed
response: My head is swimming with exhaustion. I have been running on adrenaline for the past twelve hours and it has finally caught up with me.

No longer able or willing to fight I decide to lie down on the bed and give myself the sleep that I so eagerly desire, regardless of whether or not I have completed my task.

Within seconds I am asleep...

As I sleep I dream. In my dream I see the room as though I was a disembodied spirit floating against the ceiling. In my unconscious state I see a hideous apparition appear at the open window. Time seems to slow as the beast clambers through into the room and paces deliberately across the floor towards my slumbering figure. In my dream the horrific creature leans over my sleeping form and, with savage intent, sinks its fangs into my neck.

I wake, in futility trying to scream. It is no longer a dream but reality. The Count is draining the life from my body.

My dying action is to turn my head towards the west wall and wonder why I didn't make more effort to secure the window...

As I sleep I dream. In my dream I see the room as though I was a disembodied spirit floating against the ceiling. I hear the sound of someone shaking the door, trying to open it. I see a small, inoffensive shape crawl through the gap under the door and squeak its way across the room. In my dream the small, dark mass becomes a terrible humanoid apparition standing beside my bed. In my dream the horrific creature leans over my sleeping form and, with savage intent, sinks its fangs into my neck.

I wake, in futility trying to scream. It is no longer a dream but reality. The Count is draining the life from my body.

My dying action is to turn my head towards the south wall and the large metal door that kept me trapped while allowing the vampyre access...

As I sleep I dream. In my dream I see the room as though I was a disembodied spirit floating against the ceiling. I hear the sound of someone shaking the door, trying to open it. I see a creature of some kind make it's way into the room through the gaping keyhole in the door. In my dream the small, dark mass becomes a terrible humanoid apparition standing beside my bed. In my dream the horrific creature leans over my sleeping form and, with savage intent, sinks its fangs into my neck.

I wake, in futility trying to scream. It is no longer a dream but reality. The Count is draining the life from my body.

My dying action is to turn my head towards the south wall and the large metal door that kept me trapped while allowing the vampyre access...
action: You look under the mattress
response: Curiosity, for some reason, leads me to consider whether there might be something under the mattress. With some difficulty I manage to get a grip on the underside of the mattress and heave with all my strength - but my strength has abandoned me. The mattress is abominably heavy, and with no real motivation other than curiosity to drive me I am destined to fail. Breathing heavily, I quickly abandon this course of action and elect to choose a less strenuous path.
action: You jump out the window
response: A desperate thought fills my head. If my mother is right and The Count is weak until he has feasted then maybe depriving him of his food will be enough to prevent him recovering. Perhaps my death will force his?

I catch myself in shock. Suicide? The worst of sins? But desperate times call for desperate measures. My death is imminent regardless, perhaps my sacrifice can buy the freedom of my people. If I no longer have the strength to fight then maybe I have the strength to choose my own fate.

Sick to the pit of my stomach and weary to the point of death I slowly push the window open as wide as it will go; an act that seems to take all my remaining strength. I find within myself, however, the resolve to clamber onto the ledge and stand.
The blazing sunset seems to me the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, and without daring to look down I take the step into oblivion and welcome the darkness...

The darkness doesn't last. My eyes flicker open and I am staring into the sky, the stars twinkling in the night-time panorama. I do not have the time to wonder how long I have been unconscious because the first thing that I register in my mind is tremendous pain. I fell to the ground but in the cruelest twist of fate I was denied death. The sharp, agonising stabbing pain in my legs suggests that they have been shattered by the fall. My right arm lies twisted and useless by my side. Dark red fluid smeared over my face obscures my view. As a gulp each breath my chest rattles like dice being rolled in a cup. I try to scream to express my mental and physical torment, but the only sound that I can expel is the feeble mewing of a cat seeking his mother's milk. I do not even have the energy to cry.

Then I catch something on the edge of my hearing. It sounds like...footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. My chest constricts as a figure appears at the edge of my peripheral vision. I cannot even move my head to get a better look, but I do not need to. The figure crouches beside me and a hideous face is thrust into my vision. A black haired elderly man, rotting skin stretched tightly over his skull, leers at me. His breath smells of decaying flesh and as he grins he reveals two razor sharp fangs. A guttural laugh begins in his throat and I finally find my scream. But my scream quickly becomes a bubbling wheeze as The Count begins to savage my jugular...
action: You enter the fireplace
response: I carefully bend down and enter the fireplace, standing once I get inside.

After a few moments of reflection I decide that this is serving no useful purpose. There is nowhere to go from here and it will not function as an effective hiding place. I re-enter the room, brushing my frock down as I go.
action: You climb up the chimney
response: I wonder if it might be possible to climb to freedom through the fireplace. Carefully, I clamber into it and push hard against the sides of the chimney. With an effort of strength I lift my legs and try to find some kind of foothold but there is nothing forthcoming.

After a minute of trying I am forced to admit defeat and remove myself from the fireplace. I gather my thoughts and rest my trembling legs for a second. I lack the strength and ability to escape this way.
action: You enter mirror
response: As a thought forms in my mind drowsiness begins to overcome me. I shake my head to rouse myself, after which the words seem meaningless to me.
action: You breathe on the mirror
response: From somewhere comes the suggestion that I should breathe on the mirror, though from where I know not. It seems so random and unnecessary at this time that I blame it on exhaustion and try to formulate a more rational path of action.
action: You get the blanket
response: There is no need for me to take anything. If I need to use an object then I will do so as appropriate.
action: You read the letter
response: A thought that I don't fully understand instructs me to take a closer look at something that I don't see in the room. What is going on?
action: You search the bed
response: Wary, for it is almost as if the bed whispers a siren song as I look at it, I begin to examine the cot. The blanket is tucked in tightly but yields to a sharp tug from me. I find nothing unusual under it. The mattress is thick and tightly packed with soft and springy innards. It would be easy to sink into it and forget all of my troubles. As I lift the pillow a small piece of paper wafts out from underneath it and floats gently to the ground. I replace the pillow and turn my attention back to the room.
action: You read the note
response: I reach down and take the piece of paper in my hands. I force my gaze to focus on the neat handwriting that has been marked on the paper. The message reads...

Marika. I am unable to say goodbye to you as I would wish to. I want you to gaze into your own beautiful eyes and breathe yourself a goodbye from me.

The paper drops from my limp grasp and settles again on the hard floor. This message was clearly meant for me to find, but who left it? And why? My head aches but I have the feeling that within the message is a hidden meaning that I must endeavour to find.
action: You breathe on the mirror
response: Driven by a sudden flash of inspiration I move over to the mirror and, as the message on the paper predicted, find myself gazing into my own eyes.

Prompted by the rest of the message I breathe in deeply and exhale over the mirror. I repeat the gesture. As the mirror mists over I notice marks; marks where the mirror is not fogging up. My heart skips a beat as I continue to breathe out over the rest of the mirror, revealing more and more of what seems to be a hidden message.

By the time that I have finished I am feeling light-headed and unsteady on my feet, but I appear to have uncovered a message.

I commit it to memory as the mirror slowly clears.
action: You open the door with rod
response: I grab the iron rod from the floor and charge at the door.

Screaming with rage I bring the rod round in an arc and into contact with the door with as much power as I can muster. There is a deafening clang and the rod is jarred from my hands and thrown across
action: You hit the fireplace
response: the room, just missing my head. I stumble back, hands shaking and ears ringing.

I am not the violent type.
action: You look at the hair
response: Driven by some unknown prompting I begin to run my hand through my hair. As my finger touches something sharp I withdraw it hastily. A second, more cautious check reveals a hairpin that shouldn't be there. Unbidden, the memory comes to me of my final meeting with my mother. As we parted she touched my hair. At the time I thought it nothing more than a tender gesture but it seems that she had ulterior motives. Thanking God for her ingenuity I place the hairpin carefully on the shelf above the fireplace and ponder on a use for it.
action: Lock window
response: I reach out and take the hairpin from the shelf. The hairpin is too small to use on the door so I make my way across the room to the window and, having pulled the window so it is as shut as I can make it, I begin to work on the lock.

My hand is shaking through exhaustion and I do not rightly know what I am doing but God is with me. After a few moments of fumbling and twisting there is a tiny click. I remove the hairpin from the tiny keyhole to see that my labour has bent and warped it. I then hesitantly push the window. It remains firm. Again I try, this time with as much force as I can muster in my weakened state. The window does not move. I have successfully secured it against The Count. Hopefully the thick glass will be sufficient to thwart his entry.

I respectfully place the hairpin back on the shelf and ponder my next move.
action: You put the blanket under the gap
response: A flash of inspiration strikes me and with a great sense of urgency I yank the thick blanket from the bed and pull it over to the door. The gap under the door is nowhere big enought for a human to crawl under but until I have a better understanding of what The Count is capable of I will err on the side of caution.

The blanket is thick and heavy, and with some effort I manage to force it under the door making a barrier of sorts. As it stands nothing will be able to come through the breach and I pray that The Count will lack the necessary strength to remove it swiftly.
action: Lift flagstone
response: There are many flagstones in the floor and they all look alike. I wouldn't know which one to lift, if any, without prior investigation.
action: You examine the floor
response: The tightly-packed, perfectly square flagstones are cold and hard under my bare feet. I kneel and run my fingers across the stones, searching for something unusual. My breath catches in my throat as my fingers stumble carelessly across a flagstone that seems to be slightly raised in comparison to its neighbours. I check again. This flagstone is the twin of the others except for the fact that it is definitely loose. However, it's too heavy and my fingers are too thick to prise it up. There must be something in here that can help me!
action: Lift flagstone
response: I decide to try and move the loose flagstone and it occurs to me that the iron rod might be perfectly suited to this task. I grip it tightly and slowly work the flat end into the thin gap between the flagstones.

When I believe that I have inserted the rod as far as I can I take a deep breath and begin to apply pressure. Lifting the stone is much easier than I thought it would be and within a few seconds I have managed to tip it enough to prise it out of the floor.

I cast the rod aside and begin to wonder what, if anything, might be contained within the dark cavity that I have uncovered...
action: You look in cavity
response: I lie beside the hole in the floor and, with due prudence, put my hand into the darkness.

I have to rely purely on my sense of touch to discern if there is anything of interest in the hole. For a few seconds all I am able to feel is the cold, wet density of damp stone and a soft breeze, but after a moment of maneouvering I brush against something rough and soft. Nervously I grab the object and begin to pull it towards me.

As I do so I hear a tinkling noise. I pause as the sound moves away from me, but it is too late. I listen as something metallic slithers away, sounding like it's falling through a fissure below me. There is a further moment of silence before something clatters to the ground on the level below me. My imagination ponders the events that these sounds proclaim but I am not quite sure what to make of them. After this second of contemplation I continue my action and pull the object that I have grasped into the light.

I climb onto my knees with my prize, which appears to be a grubby old rag. As I unfold it a roll of parchment falls to the floor in front of me; the sole inhabitant of the cloth. I toss the rag to one aside, as it appears to have had no other purpose than to serve as a container for the parchment. I wipe my hand across my tired eyes and consider my next decision.

I yawn. I am finding it difficult to fight off sleep.
action: You put the candle in the hole
response: I carefully take the candle across the room and kneel down beside the hole. The flickering flame allows me to see something that looks like a piece of cloth that I could probably reach.

I yawn. I am finding it difficult to fight off sleep.
action: You examine the cloth
response: I feel the urge to examine a rag. I am do not see anything that fits that description. I push the useless urge away.
action: You reach in the hole
response: I lie beside the hole in the floor and, with due prudence, put my hand into the darkness.

I have to rely purely on my sense of touch to discern if there is anything of interest in the hole. For a few seconds all I am able to feel is the cold, wet density of damp stone and a soft breeze, but after a moment of maneouvering I brush against something rough and soft. Nervously I grab the object and begin to pull it towards me.

As I do so I hear a tinkling noise. I pause as the sound moves away from me, but it is too late. I listen as something metallic slithers away, sounding like it's falling through a fissure below me. There is a further moment of silence before something clatters to the ground on the level below me. My imagination ponders the events that these sounds proclaim but I am not quite sure what to make of them. After this second of contemplation I continue my action and pull the object that I have grasped into the light.

I climb onto my knees with my prize, which appears to be a grubby old rag. As I unfold it a roll of parchment falls to the floor in front of me; the sole inhabitant of the cloth. I toss the rag to one aside, as it appears to have had no other purpose than to serve as a container for the parchment. I wipe my hand across my tired eyes and consider my next decision.
action: You put the rag in the door keyhole
response: I remember a rumour that The Count possesses the ability to change his shape. The keyhole in the door is sizeable, possibly big enough to allow him entry through it.

With this in mind I scoop up the rag that I retrieved from under the floor and move purposely over to the door. Using all my strength I cram the rag into the keyhole until I am sure that it will no easy task to remove it. I can only pray that The Count will not be resourceful enough or strong enough to excavate it.
action: You examine the door lock
response: I examine the keyhole in the metal door that obstructs the exit. It is the largest keyhole that I have ever seen, almost big enough for me to put my slender hand through. Almost big enough, but not quite.
The best I can do is put three fingers in it. Bending down and peering through it reveals to me the dark stairwell just outside this room. So close to freedom and yet so far...
action: You wait
response: I wait for my death.
action: Sleep
response: My head is swimming with exhaustion. I have been running on adrenaline for the past twelve hours and it has finally caught up with me.

No longer able or willing to fight I decide to lie down on the bed and give myself the sleep that I so eagerly desire, regardless of whether or not I have completed my task.

Within seconds I am asleep...

As I sleep I dream. In my dream I see the room as though I was a disembodied spirit floating against the ceiling. I picture the sound of a rustling wind that begins near me, up in the roof, but moves along and down until it seems as if it comes from the walls. It moves closer and closer and closer to my sleeping figure until it seems to burst from the fireplace in the form of a small bat. In my dream the small, dark mass becomes a terrible humanoid apparition standing beside my bed. In my dream the horrific creature leans over my sleeping form and, with savage intent, sinks its fangs into my neck.

I wake, in futility trying to scream. It is no longer a dream but reality. The Count is draining the life from my body.

My dying action is to turn my head towards the north wall and the fireplace from whence my killer came...
action: Light parchment
response: It suddenly occurs to me that the parchment could be very useful, just not in the way that was originally intended. I scoop the parchment from the floor and hold it over the candle on the shelf for a second. It catches and produces a reasonable flame. I then bend down and cast the burning parchment amongst the pyre that I have constructed in the fireplace.

I pray for it to produce flames amongst the wood and, after what feels like an eternity, I am heartened to see that the wood is indeed burning. I linger for another anxious minute to ensure that the blaze will continue and before long I am coughing on a plume of smoke.

I throw the candle onto the fire for the sake of it and rub my weeping eyes. I am feeling warmer already, and my body is driven even closer to the dangerous state of slumber.
action: Sleep
response: My head is swimming with exhaustion. I have been running on adrenaline for the past twelve hours and it has finally caught up with me.

No longer able or willing to fight I decide to lie down on the bed and give myself the sleep that I so eagerly desire, regardless of whether or not I have completed my task.

Within seconds I am asleep...

As I sleep I dream. In my dream I see the room as though I was a disembodied spirit floating against the ceiling. I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairwell below me, getting closer and closer. There is a pause and sound of rushing wind. Then something slowly flies into the room from a hole in the floor. In my dream the small, dark mass becomes a terrible humanoid apparition standing beside my bed.
In my dream the horrific creature leans over my sleeping form and, with savage intent, sinks its fangs into my neck.

I wake, in futility trying to scream. It is no longer a dream but reality. The Count is draining the life from my body.

My dying action is to turn my head towards the floor, cursing myself for overlooking something so obvious...