Part 54: Bonus Page 2
Because we're so near the end, (yes there's more), before the last chapter, I figured now is a good time for...
We'll start with what happens if Miranda steals her husband's faculty card.
>search pants
(Michael's pants)
You find Michael's wallet.
>open wallet
(first taking the wallet)
With a nervous glance toward the bathroom, you slip the wallet from Michael's pants.
You open the wallet, revealing Michael's faculty card.
Keep in mind, at this point, Miranda is naked after waking up...
>take card
The shower suddenly stops. Quickly you palm the card, replace the wallet and arrange the pants the way you found them. A moment later Michael emerges from the bathroom, toweling his hair. "My, don't you look tempting this morning," he says, giving you a kiss. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom and gets dressed. "I think I'm going to stay home and get some writing done. I don't actually start work until tomorrow, so..." He kisses you on the cheek as he walks out into the hall. "If you go out today, see if you can find a newspaper. I want to learn as much as I can about this town."
He looks at you for a moment, and his voice becomes serious. "I love you, hon. You know that, don't you? I really want us to try and be happy here."
Then he turns and pads down the hall.
You take a deep breath as he goes. You've never lied to Michael or hidden anything from him before, ever; now, hardly two days into your new life, you're already sneaking through his wallet.
Oh yeah. You're off to a great start.
That last line makes me believe Michael and Miranda Carter got married this year.
Later, there was another way to open the puzzle box. My first time through, this was my method of getting the lens from inside.
Railroad Tracks
The trail heads up a short embankment and emerges from the thicket alongside the railroad tracks. The tracks run down from the northeast and past the mill, continuing southwest but slowly curving westward until they cross the Miskaton River some miles outside of town. From the embankment you can look out over the entire heath: jagged, shadowy rooftops to the south; the oily ribbon of the Miskaton to the west; and to the east, the lighthouse sentinel and the leaden waters of the Atlantic beyond.
>take puzzle box
Taken.
>put puzzle box on tracks
You put the puzzle box on the railroad tracks.
Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
You can hear a low rumbling and a distant, plaintive whistle coming from the northeast.
Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot.
Here is comes.
>z
Time passes.
>z
Time passes.
The train lumbers into view, its rumbling passage growing louder as it approaches.
>z
Time passes.
The ground beneath your feet begins to vibrate as the rumbling grows to a roar. The whistle lets out an urgent shriek. The train is bearing down quickly now, very, very close.
Ever put a penny on a train track?
>z
Time passes.
With a sudden, hot gust of wind and a tremendous blast of noise, the train hurtles past, boxes and flats flickering by like frames in a kinetoscope. The ground is literally shaking now, sending bits of gravel bouncing down the sides of the embankment.
The train rolls right over the puzzle box. For an instant you can see it being torn to shreds beneath the crushing iron wheels, and then it is gone.
One fragment, some bit of black material from the box, flies out from under the train and lands in the gravel nearby.
Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot.
Your score has just gone up by two points.
>look at fragment
It's a dark, glassy circle, about the width of your hand in diameter and half an inch thick in the middle, tapering off to thinness toward the edge like a convex lens. Its color is the deep, oily black of obsidian, though you fancy you can see faint swirls of color inside it like the rainbow sheen of oil on water. Its curved surface is cool and perfectly smooth. Although incredibly hard, the material does not feel like stone; there is an odd, yielding quality to it, almost like something organic... almost, you realize with disquiet, like skin.
As abruptly as it arrived, the train is past, the last swaying car receding quickly down the line to the west.
>take lens
Taken.
Finally, for this bonus, we have the Library to contend with.
If we took the Faculty Card from our Hubby's wallet, we would know to look him up in the register and find his name next to Frazer's book (again, it's best to refer to books by their authors). We would, however, realize that Claudia Benson had already been here. Even if we guessed, we could find she not only looked up Frazer, but Greene, Horne, and Wheldrake.
So, let's take a read!
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>show card to librarian
(first taking the faculty card)
(slipping the torn journal into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
The librarian looks the card over, nods slowly, and hands it back to you without a word.
I had a lot of stuff in Miranda's hands for this update.
>ask librarian for Frazer
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the thick, dusty tome you saw your husband with earlier. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
Your score has just gone up by two points.
>read frazer
As you open the book, a slip of paper falls from its pages and flutters to the ground.
Oh? What's this?
>look at slip
Someone was apparently using it as a bookmark. There's some writing on one side.
>read slip
It says:
born-died same date?
have to chk. records
The handwriting is unmistakably Michael's.
Seems like Michael had the same idea that Miranda did.
>put slip in coat
(first taking the slip of paper)
(slipping the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
You slip the slip of paper into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
>read frazer
As soon as we read the book, we get the following menu.
Yup. This is one of those BIG weighty tomes of Eldritch knowledge.
Starting with the Introduction...
A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in 1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic style of those times.
[Please press SPACE.]
Next The Legend of Croseus Verlac
This chapter deals with the strange mythology surrounding the person of Croseus Verlac, the first of the American Verlacs, who immigrated from the Black Forest region of Germany in the early 1600s. He settled in the Miskaton Valley and there helped establish the small fishing port soon to be known as Anchorhead.
Croseus sired six raven-haired daughters and schooled all of them at home. The girls were reclusive and odd of habit, and by the time the eldest turned fifteen the town had all but openly accused them of witchcraft. The townsfolk shunned the Verlac daughters and called them "the Old Man's Coven" -- although never within earshot, since Croseus was already a very powerful and influential man in that region.
Although he never had a son, Croseus apparently sired a number of grandsons by more than one of his daughters -- ostensibly to keep the Verlac blood pure, such practice being not uncommon in the more secluded and xenophobic early settlements. However, most of the male children were born dead, or horribly deformed, or both, and there were furtive whispers that Croseus was practicing some form of dark sorcery on his progeny. The fact that Croseus fell ill on the day that the first healthy male child was born (to his youngest daughter), and died before day's end, did not go unnoticed.
After Croseus died, the townspeople turned against the "coven", burning all of them to death except for Eustacia, the youngest, who managed to escape along with her infant son, Wilhelm. She returned some years later, after an outbreak of smallpox wiped out much of the town's older population, including the Calvinist minister and every last man and woman who had participated in the burning of Verlac's brood.
[Please press SPACE.]
The Ritual of the Misquat Indians...
Little is known about the enigmatic Misquat Indians. They are believed to have occupied a small, unobtrusive area around southeastern Massachusetts, along the banks of the river which now bears their name. At the time that this book was published, various property disputes prevented any thorough archaeological investigation of the area; information regarding this tiny, sequestered tribe is therefore scarce and based largely on hearsay and folklore.
Analysis of the only known fossil -- a partial skull -- has led some anthropologists to conclude that the Misquat were not indigenous to the region. One popular theory holds that the tribe is most closely related to certain degenerate branches of the northern Esquimeaux, and were perhaps driven from their original sub-arctic clime and forced to settle in exile in what would become the northeastern United States.
Although precious few physical artifacts have been recovered -- chief among them a pair of ritual masks and a crudely carved, seven-holed wind instrument -- tall tales of Misquat ritual abound. They appear to have been a unilaterally reviled tribe. Most of the whispered stories involve horrid, ululating chants around blazing bonfires in the dead of winter night, grotesque copulations performed in honor of bestial gods, and of course abundant human sacrifice. The Misquat were generally known as child-stealers, creeping through open windows at night to perpetrate foul kidnappings. None of these claims can of course be verified; nearly all Indian tribes encountered by the first European settlers have been subject to such prejudices at one time or another.
It is known that the Misquat were most likely star-worshippers, and possessed what was likely a quite complex theology involving entities that dwelled beyond "the bowl of tiny fires" -- their term for the night sky. These entities granted wisdom or insanity, bestowed prosperity or famine, according to how well or how laxly the tribe performed its ritual appeasements. The rituals attempted to contact or possibly summon aspects of these entities through elaborately carved "beacons" -- mounds of stones or obelisks placed at significant geographical locations.
The few eroded hieroglyphs left by them (oddly, the Misquat were one of the few North American tribes to have developed a system of writing prior to any contact with Europeans) have proved a compelling but so far intractable puzzle for linguists today; all further detail about their ritual and mythology remains yet a mystery.
[Please press SPACE.]
The Dark Man and Other Aspects...
Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements' borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil.
The Dark Man generally takes the form of a man, sometimes of large or even giant stature but more often no larger than a natural human. He is invariably dark-skinned, although rarely described as a Negro -- most often he is a Caucasian with jet-black skin, thus combining the refined, cunning intelligence of the European with the base carnality of the African. He is regularly portrayed as the consort of witches. He has many names: The Dark Man, The Grinning Man, Old Scratch, Springheel Jack, The Evil One, etc., but always his formal, Biblical appellation -- "Lucifer" or "Satan" -- is scrupulously avoided, a holdover from the tradition that to speak a demon's name is to attract his attention and perhaps even summon him.
More interesting to the folklorist are the names that harken further back than these simple Christian superstitions, recalling a more pagan portrayal of the dark and unknown. These tales, which originate from the more reclusive colonies, often bring out the more animalistic, nature-worshipping aspect of the Dark Man. He is sometimes pictured as being covered with hair, or having hooves instead of feet, resembling Classical images of Pan. His names are more obscure: The Wicker (or Wicca) Man; The Black Goat With A Thousand Young. Therein lie tantalizing clues offering the enterprising folklorist still deeper glimpses into the collective unconscious.
A few rare instances of The Dark Man have been uncovered that point beyond even these antiquated references -- bizarre aspects that seem to reflect some of the less understood concepts of Native American mysticism. Such baroque names as "The Lurker At The Threshold" or "The Watcher Beyond The Stars" point to a substratum of human mythology as yet untouched. These versions typically describe not physical manifestations, but rather abstract concepts of Evil and Time that some scholars have linked to the pre-Roman god Saturn, before he became characterized as merely the father of Zeus, when he was instead identified with the Ouroburos Dragon, Devourer of Worlds. Hopefully, as more archaeological evidence is uncovered, we will be able to speak of these primordial connections with greater confidence.
[Please press SPACE.]
The Strangling Mist Legend
Rather unique to the lower Miskaton River Valley, this tale centers around a seemingly malevolent fog that roams the forests and lonely night roads, choking the unwary traveler with invisible, untouchable hands.
The experience of being attacked by this strange entity is described in an 1855 journal as: "...lyke as thowe a deade man were to put his corpsey fingers downe yr throate withe one hande, & up yr nostrille withe the other..."
No two tellings can agree on the origins of this terrible mist. Some accounts insist that it is a spirit of the restless dead; others attribute the effect to malicious hobgoblins. Other versions implicate witchcraft, a pirate's curse, swamp faerie... the list goes on. Some of the more esoteric explanations seem to indicate that the legend was adapted by white settlers from native superstitions held by the tribes indigenous to the Miskaton region; however, there is no evidence as yet that the "strangling mist" existed in any form prior to the appearance of Europeans.
[Please press SPACE.]
And finally the Ghost Train...
Yet another colorful folk legend involves the recurring image of a "ghost train" -- a spectral locomotive that materializes from nowhere, glides across the haunted track for a short period of time, and then disappears as mysteriously as it came.
This story did not originate among the first white settlers, of course; obviously it only came into being after the advent of the steam locomotive in our burgeoning Machine Age. The earliest known recorded version of this story, in fact, is dated 1882. Nonetheless, the legend provides us with an interesting example of how the collective unconscious adapts itself to changing aspects of our culture, cloaking old symbolism in the trappings of new technology.
Although many versions hold that the ghost train represents the ghastly echoes of a locomotive that was wrecked (derailed and lost off a mountain pass is the most popular means of destruction), this is in fact a simplistic interpretation not seen until many decades after the myth originated. More intriguing and more useful to the folklorist are versions that explain the ghost train as a transport to the land of the dead -- a modernized boat of Charon, ferrying damned souls across the shroud to the devil's newly industrial Hell. These are the versions which most faithfully maintain links to the traditions of the past, and demonstrate the curious evolutionary behavior of the myth.
In some of these tellings, the traveling soul must have a ticket to present to the grim conductor -- an element directly analogous to the ancient custom of placing of gold coins beneath the tongue to buy passage to the underworld. Living souls who ventured too near the tracks as the ghost train made its nightly sojourn would find themselves swept along -- echoing the Celtic/Germanic myth of the Wild Hunt, in which witness were compelled to join as either hunter or prey. Those who thus boarded the train by accident, madness or mere foolishness were inevitably carried back to whatever eldritch dimension from whence the train originated. Tales of return voyages are rare and generally held by those who pass them along to be apocryphal.
[Please press SPACE.]
You can see why I opted to wait until a break in the story before reveiling this text.
There's SO much of it!
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>give frazer to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
Every single time the Librarian does something, she goes away afterwards. That means each book requires two rings of the bell.
Once to ask for the book.
Once to return the book.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>ask for greene
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
Thankfully, Miranda doesn't have to show the card to the Librarian over and over.
>read greene
Its full title is The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene. It's a slim volume, published by Miskaton Press in 1943. According to the introduction, the book's purpose is to give an objective account of the social and economic factors which led some of the early American colonies into violent conflict with the tribes of the northeast, concluding with a transitional discussion of how the "Indian policies" which took shape early on evolved into Western Expansionism and the idea of Manifest Destiny. The author, reflecting the more conservative decade in which he wrote, tends to paint a more sympathetic picture of the European side of the issue than would be fashionable today; but all in all it seems an intelligent, thoughtful analysis.
Glancing through the table of contents, you notice that there is a short chapter on the Misquat Indians. Curious, you flip to the page.
The fate of the Misquat tribe, states the author, is an enigma which may never be solved. Diplomatic relationships with the original river valley settlers seemed doomed from the beginning. Documents from the period paint the tribe as aggressively pagan, degenerate savages. Nevertheless, Croseus Verlac managed to hammer out a peace treaty of sorts with the tribal leader, and the two groups led an uneasy coexistence for over a century.
The exact circumstances which led up to the "battle" of Quattac Bend in 1772 are unclear. One document makes mention of an "uprising", although since as far as is known, the Misquats were never in a subservient relationship to the Anchorhead settlers, the use of this term is more puzzling than revealing. In fact, no evidence has yet been discovered that corroborates the notion that the Misquat Indians initiated any sort of hostility whatsoever.
What is known is this: the Battle of Quattac Bend took place in the dead of night. It was led by Croseus' descendant, Heinrich Verlac, and "fought" by some twenty town men, who crept through the woods and ambushed the small tribe during one of its holy ceremonies. There are no lists of casualties. Although the diary of one soldier tells of many prisoners being taken, there is no mention of where these prisoners were kept or what was eventually done to them.
No known document makes even the vaguest allusion to the Misquat Indians after 1772. From that date onward, the tribe effectively ceases to exist.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>give Greene to Librarian
Ma'am, here's the book, but could you also get me-
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for Horne
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
>read horne
According to the author's foreword, the term "metempsychosis" means the transmigration of souls -- that is, the reincarnation of a soul into another body. The book, which was published in 1922, is an examination of various traditions' explanations of how and why this happens. The author's tone is very matter-of-fact; it's unclear whether he is approaching the subject from the standpoint of a mythologist or if he actually believes in reincarnation and is evaluating the various theories based on their "scientific" validity.
Flipping through the book, you find a passage that has been highlighted:
"Among tribes with a strong ancestor-worship tradition, one often discovers the quaint notion that one may be reincarnated as one's own descendant. Asking such people whether they must share a single body with the spirit of their ancestor (inheritance), or if they themselves are in essence their own grandfather (identity), is generally futile; among primitives, concepts of self-identity are poorly defined at best. Often there exists no word in their native language to express the idea. One can assume, however, that the primitive tribesman's conception of the situation is probably closer to the latter option; otherwise, over the course of generations one would have to contend with dozens of ancestral spirits fighting for room within a single body. However, the theory of identity also begs the question: how far back does the chain of reincarnation go? One could conceivably be dealing with a tribe of 'first' men, present at the day of Creation and renewing themselves over the aeons with each succeeding generation."
Well, this is oddly prophetic.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>give horne to Librarian
Ma'am, I just need one other book, I wonder if I could-
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for Wheldrake
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
>read Wheldrake
This is a very thin volume, more of a tract than a proper book. You notice with some interest that it was published in 1918 by Miskaton University Press, though who "Lord Wheldrake" was you cannot begin to fathom.
Even without a background in physics, you can immediately tell that this is nothing but the purest pseudoscience. The author claims to have made "startling advances" relating to a heretofore unknown medium through which energy can travel. As far as you can tell, he performed no actual experiments; his entire thesis is built on extrapolation from his own creative reasoning. One bit near the middle has been marked with a highlighter:
"Having established the existence of the N-space medium, we can then reasonably posit the existence of a special wave-length capable of traveling through that medium; we will call this form of energy, appropriately enough, N-rays. Due to the fundamentally extradimensional nature of N-space, N-rays cannot logically be located at any one point of the electromagentic spectrum; they instead exist at every point along the spectrum, traveling perpendicular it. Naturally, the practical ramifications of being able to transmit extradimensionally are dwarfed by the theoretical implications..."
Good grief, you can't help thinking. What drivel.
>s
Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior. You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.
I'm sure you're all wondering what happens if Miranda tries to leave.
>e
You're not allowed to leave the library with the book.
She won't.
She can try to put these books in her coat, but...
>put book in coat
You can't see any such thing.
...she'll forget what a book is. Of course, it's best to refer to the books by author, but...
>put wheldrake in coat
You can't see any such thing.
Miranda may have the onset of Alzheimer's.
And before you say "Maybe she doesn't have the book on her anymore...
>i
You are wearing a silver locket, your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands N-Fold Transduction and the Space-Time Barrier by Lord Wheldrake, Michael's faculty card, a strange black disk and an old-fashioned iron key.
Nope. No clue why the book acts this way. I know a little Inform (the language used to program this game) and I'd LOVE to see how the Author handled these Books as objects.
Anyway, that's enough of that.
Next up... The Last Night.