# vi: set ts=2 shiftwidth=2 expandtab:
#
# Load and run a version 3.90 game.
#
# This script implements the shadowvault walkthrough for The Woods Are Dark.
# This game has a tricksy "* ball *" task in it that failed with earlier
# SCARE releases, which is what makes it a decent choice for the test suite.
# It's also interesting in that it uses the first person, whereas most other
# games use second person; this helps increase test coverage in general.
#
# In a few places the text needed to be changed slightly to, for example
# correct spelling mistakes, presumed to be a result of the walkthrough not
# being for the precise same game version as used here.  No game logic changes
# were required, though.
#

~ game
*The Woods Are Dark* Compiled "14 Sep 2003"* Version 3.90*

~
The Woods Are Dark

Welcome to The Woods Are Dark a new text adventure from Cannibal. Thank you
for downloading this game and supporting IF and Adrift.

[*] Warning [*]

This is a work of interactive fiction which features mature themes of a
disturbing nature. If this is not to your taste, or if you are under the age
of 15, then I suggest you quit now and proceed no further.

Previous works from author Cannibal, including the fairly awful The Night
That Dripped Blood, can be found at http://www.turntopage.com and downloaded
for free.

The superb Adrift Generator was crafted by Campbell Wild. His website and a
thriving community of writers and creators can be found at
http://www.adrfit.org.uk

[[]MORE[]]

The Woods Are Dark
The Woods Are Dark

A text adventure by Cannibal.

MENU

1 Play The Woods Are Dark (with full intro)

2 Play The Woods Are Dark (with abridged intro)

3 Play The Woods Are Dark (with no intro)

> 1
I was thirteen years old when Drew Doherty went crazy and murdered his family
with a machete.

I had spent the day at the Cliffs of Moher. It was a beautiful place north of
Lahinch, along the western coast of Ireland and about twenty miles from our
home town of Black Hill. My Da had invited along the Donnelly and McPhail
families, which suited me fine, because their children, Stephen and Mary,
were my best friends. It had been a fantastic day, watching the sea crash
against the rugged, towering cliffs, flying kites and eating packed lunches,
exploring and chasing through the Burren, a network of caves and catacombs
with underground streams, flora and glistening limestone walls. It was one of
the most charming, poetic and tranquil places in County Clare and it was a
day that none of us had wanted to end. We had no idea what was happening back
home. We had no idea of the tragedy that was unfolding.

Our parents had banned us from setting foot in the woods after the murders. I
remember losing my pocket money for two months and being sent to confession
because I went up to see the cottage where the Dohertys had lived. Six of us
had gone that day; Tommy Nesbitt, Catherine McLaughlin, Siobhan Kelly, Mary
McPhail, Stephen Donnelly and me. Red Loomis, a local man, had caught us
trying to break in, using a crowbar that Catherine had stolen from her Da's
garage. Tommy and Siobhan had run off into the surrounding woods but the wily
old man had caught the rest of us and had driven us back to town. Our parents
had been furious. I couldn't sit down for a week. We never tried that
again...

There was something strange about that day because, when we got caught, and
Tommy and Siobhan ran off, well, Siobhan must have kept running, because she
never came back to town and we never saw her again. The Guardia were called
in and asked all of us questions but even they gave up searching for her
after several weeks. Siobhan had come from a poor home. Her Da, Peter, was in
the big house for armed robbery and Mrs Kelly was always drunk and waking up
in a stranger's bed. Rumours spread quickly in a place like Black Hill and
the crack was that Siobhan had been carrying a wee one belonging to one of
her mothers many lovers and that was why she had ran away. What was even
stranger than Siobhan's disappearance was Tommy Nesbitt, who turned up two
days later, his hair white, and his clothes muddy, shivering, cold and
babbling nonsense. The priests claimed he was possessed and he was taken
away. The remaining four of us - Catherine, Mary, Stephen and I - swore a
pact that day that we would never return to the Doherty cottage.

We kept that pact for five long years...

"It'll be good crack," giggled Catherine, turning round in the passenger seat
to face me.
"Aye, so you reckon," I dismissed, sucking milkshake through a straw.
"Besides, we swore never to go there again."
"We were thirteen," reminded Stephen, biting into a burger. "We were wee
stupid kids."
"Aye, now we're big stupid adults," I added, laughing.
Stephen grinned and shoveled fries into his mouth. The rain drummed loudly
off the roof of the car. We were about five miles from Black Hill, parked
along the coastline.
"We should go tomorrow," suggested Catherine. "On the anniversary of the
murders[?]"
"And stay the night," added Stephen.
"What[?]" I exclaimed, almost choking on my drink. "Are you some kind of
eejits[?]"
"Scared[?]" mocked Catherine. "Afraid Drew Doherty will come back from the
dead...[?]"
"Aye, up your hole, Catherine McLaughlin," I snapped.
"You're scared, aren't you[?]"
"Leave it, Catherine," cracked Mary, angry with the pair of them.
"This is gonna be awesome," beamed Stephen, ignoring her. "On the anniversary
of the Doherty killings."
"What's the point[?]" I protested. "Why go to an empty old cottage where three
innocent people were murdered[?]"
"Aye," smirked Stephen, picking relish from his goatee. "Whatever..."
"These were Black Hill people, you know," I pleaded. "These were people our
parents knew."
The rain continued to beat off the car. The windows had steamed up.
"John Doherty used to shop at your Da's hardware shop, Stephen. Your Ma used
to cut Mrs Doherty's hair, Catherine."
"Aye," continued Mary. "And my wee sister went to school with Melissa
Doherty. Have you not forgotten the wee girl was only ten years old[?]"
The two of them turned and looked at the pair of us.
"Have you forgotten about the wee lass Siobhan who never came home that day[?]"
"Oh, God," groaned Catherine. "Not that old story again."
"Everyone knows she was carrying Philip Dougan's bairn," added Stephen.
"Aye, well, what about Tommy Nesbitt[?]" argued Mary. "Hair as white as snow at
thirteen. What happened to him[?] What did he really see out there that day[?]"
"People go missing here all the time," I continued. "And they are never
found. No one talks about it. No one has any answers, not even the Guardia."
They kept looking at me.
"Why would you want to go there[?]"
"For the crack," winked Catherine, lighting a cigarette.

I phoned Mary around lunchtime.
"They're not back," I said.
"Aye, I know," said Mary.
I looked out my bedroom window at the teeming rain.
"What are we going to do[?]"
"I don't know," she said, gently. "You did warn them not to go. You pleaded
with them to stay away."
"I should have stopped them," I said, pacing up and down. "I should have told
the Guardia or someone."
"Catch yourself on," admonished Mary. "Stephen and Catherine haven't broken
any laws. They've just been damn stupid eejits, that's all."
I felt desperate, almost frantic.
"When we were young, Mary, everyone teased us about Drew Doherty, that he was
Black Hill's boogeyman, the most feared and dangerous killer to ever walk
County Clare."
"Aye, stories, that's all," said Mary. "We were wee bairns then. You're not
going to tell me you believe in that nonsense, now are you[?]"
"I was thinking of going up there to see if they're both okay[?]"
"No, don't do that. I really don't think that's a good idea..."
She was right, but I went all the same?

[[]MORE[]]

*
An hour later, I reached the bridge that spanned Black Hill river. The fast
flowing water below looked grey and choppy, peppered with falling rain. The
winding banks of the river, once well kept footpaths and grassy lawns, were
now rampant with undergrowth and overhanging trees, choked with weeds, strewn
with litter, abandoned, neglected, forgotten. The location of the bridge
dated back to the 1720s when the first foundations of Black Hill had been
laid in County Clare. The original bridge had been constructed of wood and
had been built by a man named Michael Tanner who, so our Ma's and Da's told
us, had rode the western coast of Ireland for a hundred days seeking a place
to call home. One morning, Tanner had found a river and had spurred his horse
along its banks until he reached deep woodland. He built a small house
beneath the trees and then built the bridge and named it Black Hill. The
bridge lost its identity through the passing years and was torn down many
times but the name remained and that story had long since become the history
of our town.

The heavy rain continued to lash down from the grey sky and the wind howled
banshee like through the swaying, groaning trees. A well driven road ran west
through the woods and in the direction of the Doherty cottage.
The road east led back to Black Hill but I had no intention of leaving until
I had found Stephen and Catherine. I could head west.

> verbose
> notification off

> w
I headed west.
*
Torrential rain streaked across the rutted, potholed road. I was ankle
deep in mud. The dense, heavily soaked trees cried out as the wind
seared through them with a biting vengeance. Fear clamped an unrelenting
hand around my throat, curled its fingers with malevolent delight,
played and teased with my fears. I shuddered, held my cross tight and
kept walking, collar turned up, shoulders hunched. Above, pegged from
treetop to treetop, the sky was rippled sheets of grey and black, shades
and colours overlapping, violently slashed with jagged arcs of lightning
and sudden, unsettling crashes of thunder. I could head east towards
Lark Fall bridge or north along a dirt track towards the Doherty cottage.

> n
I headed north.
*
The narrow dirt road was cut up with tyre tracks. The ground underfoot
was soggy and mud splashed up my legs. The trees, dripping water,
pressed in close and tight, shutting out the rumbling sky. Lightning
shot through the clouds again, followed by another deafening peel of
thunder. A dead feeling knotted my stomach. The Doherty cottage was
ahead but there was no sign of Stephen's car. I could head north towards
the cottage or south back to the road.

> n
I headed north.
*
Black and grey clouds scudded relentlessly above me and the booming
thunder did nothing to relieve my growing fears. It was here, five years
ago, that eighteen year old Drew Doherty had taken a machete to his
family. He had butchered his kin without feeling or remorse and with
shocking brutality and coldness. The locals had hunted him through the
woods like a wild beast and when the Guardai arrived, Drew was dead, shot
twice in the leg and crucified against an old tree.
The cottage, abandoned since that tragic day, looked rundown and weather
beaten, with its overgrown, untended front garden, dirt stained
brickwork, grime smeared windows and sagging grey slate roof. The rain
continued to pour down and the wind howled through the surrounding
trees. I could head south along the dirt road, northwest around the side
of the cottage or in through the front door.

> x garden
*
I picked through the rampant weeds and uncut grass and spotted a half
eaten chicken burger wrapped in a foil bag. I picked it up from the wet
ground and opened the bag. The meat and bap were stone cold and soft
from the rain but the food hadn't gone bad. I wondered if this had
belonged to Stephen or Catherine and slipped it into my pocket.

> nw
I headed northwest.
*
I found myself on a cracked stone path lined with tangled bushes and
groaning trees. The path curved round the cottage and lead to the front
and back gardens. There was only one lower floor window on this side of
the cottage. I could move northeast or southeast.

> ne
I headed northeast.
*
I found myself at the back of the cottage, standing on a paved back yard
that was bordered with a low, dull grey concrete wall. Rain beat noisily
off an iron corrugated roof and the wind howled through the surrounding
trees.

This is where the body of ten year old Melissa Doherty had been found on
that fateful, tragic day...

I could move southwest along the side of the cottage, east into an
outhouse or in through the back door.

> e
I headed east.
*
A foul, musty smell lingered in the damp air and filled my nostrils. The
unpainted brick walls of the outhouse glistened. Large puddles had
formed on the uneven concrete floor and the sound of dripping water
unsettled me. Several large oil drums, thick with rust and dirt, were
standing in one corner, beneath a row of metal shelves. I could also see
an old pram, covered in cobwebs. The only exit was west.

> x shelves
*
I stretched and ran my hand along the top shelf and found an old paint
brush, thick with dust.

> x drums
*
The drums were empty and the smell coming from them forced me to cover
my mouth and nose. I noticed that one of them had a strip of dull grey
duct tape stuck to it.

> get tape
I picked up the strip of duct tape.

> w
I headed west.
*
I found myself at the back of the cottage, standing on a paved back yard
that was bordered with a low, dull grey concrete wall. Rain beat noisily
off an iron corrugated roof and the wind howled through the surrounding
trees.

This is where the body of ten year old Melissa Doherty had been found on
that fateful, tragic day...

I could move southwest along the side of the cottage, east into an
outhouse or in through the back door.

> in
I stepped inside.
*
A terrible and musty smell lingered in the kitchen. Insects and spiders
scuttled into dark corners. Beneath a narrow, dirt smeared window, was a
stainless steel sink and draining board, thick with rust and grime. On
the opposite wall was a rickety, cheap wooden unit, made up of shelves
and drawers, the yellow paint cracked and breaking off in jagged flakes.
In one corner was a large fridge, streaked with cobwebs. I could move
out into the back yard or east into the front room.

I could see a window key and a tin of paint.

> get all
I picked up the window key and the tin of paint.

> open fridge
*
Gingerly, I pulled open the fridge door, half expecting a body to tumble
out. I allowed myself a short laugh, quickly drowned out by an overhead
crash of thunder. The fridge was empty and the shelves were stained and
reeked. It was only when I closed the door that I noticed something had
gotten wedged between the fridge and the wall. I crouched down and
pulled out a dusty broom handle with no head. It would be a handy weapon
- I decided to keep it.

> x sink
*
I spotted a metal hook lying in the sink amongst the dirt and dust.

> get hook
I picked up the metal hook.

> attach hook to handle
It took a few seconds to tape the hook to the end of the broom handle. I
allowed myself a small smile - what a cool invention.

> e
I headed east.
*
The damp and uneven walls were hung with faded and colourless paper. An old
brick fireplace was against one wall, the chimney breast thick with dirt
and grime. The only furniture remaining was a wooden rocking chair,
covered in cobwebs. I could move north, west or out.

> n
I headed north.
*
The back hallway was cramped and a draught was whipping around my
ankles. A narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. I could move south, east
and up.

> u
I headed up.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> n
I headed north.
*
I felt coldness in the pit of my stomach and a dull numbness in my mind
as I found myself in the bedroom of killer Drew Doherty. A brutal,
savage, cold blooded murderer had been spawned inside these walls.
I looked around the damp smelling bedroom and shivered. Bare wooden
floorboards streaked with light from a narrow, rain spattered window.
Against one cracked and damp riddled wall was a heavy looking, wooden
trunk. Outside, in the treetops, I could see a black cat, staring in at
me. The only exit was south.

> open window
*
I slotted the small key into the lock and with a gentle shove the
window swung out and the rain tipped in. The black cat raised itself
from the branch, stretched, and lept into the room, landing perfectly. A
ferocious gust of wind blew in more rain so I closed the window. The cat
stared at me with wary green eyes and pointed ears. It soon decided I
was no threat and found itself a corner to curl up in.

> open trunk
*
The wooden trunk was chipped and scarred. The lid creaked open slowly
and I found inside a fresh bundle of firewood which I decided to take
with me. There was nothing else but dust and dirt inside. I let the lid
slam shut.

> feed cat
I crouched down infront of the cat and took the half eaten burger from
my pocket. I tossed aside the soggy bap and broke the chicken into small
pieces. The cat began to tuck in at once and gobbled it all down in no
time. I smiled and stroked its head and it purred at me. I got to my
feet and watched the cat slink off and trot downstairs.

> s
I headed south.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> e
I headed east.
*
I was in the middle of the upstairs landing with a door either side of
me. The door to John and Cheryl's bedroom was closed. I could move
north, south, east or west.

> e
I headed east.
*
I found myself at the end of a narrow landing lined with several doors.
In the ceiling was a wooden trap door with a dusty handle. It was way
out of my reach. The only exit was west.

> x trap door
*
I reached up with the broom and caught the handle on the trap door with
the hook. I gave it several tugs and the trap door swung open. An
aluminum ladder, fixed to the back of the trap door, slid down,
offering easy access.

> u
Gingerly, I climbed the ladder and pulled myself into the attic.
*
Rain drummed against a large overhead window. The attic was gloomy and
cramped, stacked high with dusty old suitcases and wooden packing
crates. The only exit was down.

> open suitcases
*
I unstrapped and unzipped the suitcases but, oddly, they were empty
expect for a small collection of dolls house figures.

> open crates
*
I prised open several of the crates but found them to contain little of
interest. An old collection of household junk and not much else. The
only thing that caught my eye was a framed picture of Cheryl Doherty.

> get all
I picked up the framed picture and the collection of figures.

> d
I climbed back down the ladder.
*
I found myself at the end of a narrow landing lined with several doors.
The trap door in the ceiling was open and a narrow aluminium ladder
offered access to the attic. I could move west or up.

> w
I headed west.
*
I was in the middle of the upstairs landing with a door either side of
me. The door to John and Cheryl's bedroom was closed. I could move
north, south, east or west.

> n
I headed north.
*
The rain continued to pelt down from the ragged sky and beat against the
bedroom window that looked out across miles of woodland. The wallpaper
that covered the walls, once new and bright, was now old and faded and
filled the room with a strange, almost unbearable coldness. Once
brightly shinning yellow was dull and dusty, galloping horses had become
pale images, sparkling suns were little more than ghostly moons, green
fields were barren landscapes. I felt an inner surge of sadness. Beneath
the rain streaked window was a small dolls house. The only exit was south.

> put figures in dolls house
I crouched down and opened the front of the dolls house again. I
carefully placed the five figures in different rooms of the house. I
felt beads of sweat trickle down my face and I frowned. I could hear a
sound...a thumping...almost...it was a ball...someone was bouncing a
ball...the sound was growing louder...I got to my feet...and screamed.

"Help me," whispered Catherine, holding out a trembling, blood stained
hand, a rubber ball slipping from her grasp, striking the floor.

I couldn't see her eyes. I couldn't make out her face but I knew it was
her. Hair straight and brown, hanging down to her shoulders, matted with
blood. Her naked body was criss crossed with dozens of open wounds. Her
blood dripped onto the wooden floor with a deafening splash.

I reeled away, tears in my eyes, shaking my head...

"Why did you let us come here [?]" she barked, her voice dark, gnarled,
aggressive. "You let us die. You let him take us. You should die as
well. You should die as well. You should die..."

I passed out...

> l
*
The rain continued to pelt down from the ragged sky and beat against the
bedroom window that looked out across miles of woodland. The wallpaper
that covered the walls, once new and bright, was now old and faded and
filled the room with a strange, almost unbearable coldness. Once
brightly shinning yellow was dull and dusty, galloping horses had become
pale images, sparkling suns were little more than ghostly moons, green
fields were barren landscapes. I felt an inner surge of sadness. The
dolls house had gone. The room was empty. The only exit was south.

I could see a rubber ball.

> get rubber ball
I picked up the rubber ball.

> s
I headed south.
*
I was in the middle of the upstairs landing with a door either side of
me. The door to John and Cheryl's bedroom was closed. I could move
north, south, east or west.

> w
I headed west.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> d
I headed down.
*
The back hallway was cramped and a draught was whipping around my
ankles. A narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. I could move south, east
and up.

> e
I headed east.
*
I swallowed hard as I found myself in the toilet. The bare brick walls
were riddled with damp. The toilet was rimmed with dirt and cobwebs. I
could move west. The black cat was behind the toilet, clawing and
scratching at one of the bricks. The only exit was west.

> x bricks
*
I became intrigued and crouched down next to the cat. She rubbed against
my leg and purred. I ran my hand across the wall where she had been
scratching and discovered one of the bricks was loose. I gave it a tug
and revealed a small cubbyhole no bigger than a foot wide. I picked out
a cheap disposable lighter and a damp packet of stale and old
cigarettes. I quickly tossed the cigarettes away and slipped the lighter
into my pocket. Perhaps John Doherty was an ex smoker or something and
this had been his crafty hiding place for his cigarettes.

"Good lassie," I joked, patting the cat, who bored quickly and slunk off
out the room.

> w
I headed west.
*
The back hallway was cramped and a draught was whipping around my
ankles. A narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. I could move south, east
and up.

> s
I headed south.
*
The damp and uneven walls were hung with faded and colourless paper. An old
brick fireplace was against one wall, the chimney breast thick with dirt
and grime. The only furniture remaining was a wooden rocking chair,
covered in cobwebs. I could move north, west or out.

> light fire
I crouched down and lay the wood in the hearth. I found some scraps and
lit them with the lighter. It took a while to get the wood burning but
soon the room began to fill with warmth.

> sit on chair
I eased myself into the chair and felt the warmth of the fire. The black
cat trotted into the room, rolled onto its back and purred contently.
The tension and fear began to slowly seep away. I rocked backwards and
forwards, the chair creaking and groaning. This wasn't helping find
Stephen and Catherine. I got to my feet, plagued with sudden feelings of
guilt. I resolved to continue searching for my friends when...the front
door began to creak open slowly?I could hear footsteps on the bare
wooden floor?I held my breath?I felt my heart slam violently in my
chest?I turned slowly?my head began to swim?my vision blurred?I couldn't
see clearly?I couldn't think?I was shaking?I couldn't stop shaking?there
was someone infront of me?no more than a shape, a shadow, a blur of
darkness stolen from the dark sky, the screaming, Oh, dear God, the
screaming, the ugly slap of machete against flesh, the spray of blood,
the white face of John Doherty, contorted in pain, contorted in fear,
reeling away from the blows, the blood soaked machete swinging violently
through the air, hitting him again and again until his body was a mess
of blood and ripped flesh?the front door slammed open?the wind howled
through the room?I shielded my eyes?it seemed to last for an
eternity?and then it stopped?the room was empty?there was no one
here?the front door was closed?the fire had been reduced to ashes?the
black cat was nowhere to be seen?the steady downpour of rain outside
offered a calming hug of reassurance. I took a deep breath and wiped the
sweat from my brow.

> x fire
*
I crouched down and let my hand hover above the ash in the hearth. I
couldn't feel any heat which was very strange indeed. Gingerly, I began
to sift through the stone cold ash. I frowned as I caught hold of a
badly burnt book. It looked like a diary. I pulled it from the hearth
and brushed flakes of ash and dust from it.

> read diary
*
I slowly turned the pages, the badly burnt leafs crumbling between my
fingers. I choked back salty tears as I realised that the diary had
belonged to ten year old Melissa Doherty. There was only one entry that
I could read. It was last entry she had made.

"Mummy and Daddy made dinner tonight. We had chicken. It was lovely. I
helped Daddy wash up. We then made tea for Mummy and Drew. Drew is my
special brother. He tells me I am his favourite sister. I make him laugh
because I tell him he is my favourite brother. I am feeling tired now.
Drew is going into town tomorrow to run an errand for Daddy. I am going
to play ball in the backyard before I go and see Shannon. Shannon is my
best friend.

Night night Mummy Daddy Drew Frank Shannon xxxxx"

I slipped the diary into my pocket and wiped the tears from my eyes.

> w
I headed west.
*
A terrible and musty smell lingered in the kitchen. Insects and spiders
scuttled into dark corners. Beneath a narrow, dirt smeared window, was a
stainless steel sink and draining board, thick with rust and grime. On
the opposite wall was a rickety, cheap wooden unit, made up of shelves
and drawers, the yellow paint cracked and breaking off in jagged flakes.
In one corner was a large fridge, streaked with cobwebs. I could move
out into the back yard or east into the front room.

> out
I stepped outside.
*
I found myself at the back of the cottage, standing on a paved back yard
that was bordered with a low, dull grey concrete wall. Rain beat noisily
off an iron corrugated roof and the wind howled through the surrounding
trees.

This is where the body of ten year old Melissa Doherty had been found on
that fateful, tragic day...

I could move southwest along the side of the cottage, east into an
outhouse or in through the back door.

> x rubber ball
*
I thought about what I had read in Melissa's burnt diary. I thought
about how I had built the fire and seen John Doherty. I began to toss
the rubber ball against the wall in the backyard, catching it in one
hand, sometimes two. I keep looking over my shoulder, unsure what to expect.

"That's my ball," came a little girl's voice.

I caught the ball and held my breath. I turned slowly around and found
myself staring down at a little girl. It was Melissa Doherty. Her face
was deathly pale with dark rings around her dull eyes. Her hair was
long, black and lank. Her clothes were dark and creased. She didn't look
wounded. She didn't look hurt. She wasn't a ghost. I...I really didn't
know what she was...but she was here...standing in the back yard...the
rain drilling against the corrugated iron roof...staring at me with grey
eyes and bloodless skin.

"Can I have my ball back, please [?]"

Gingerly, I held out the ball in my shaking hand. She reached up and
took it from me. Her thin, colourless lips spread into a tiny smile. I
felt a barrage of emotions rip through me. What was happening here [?]
What the fuck was going on [?]

"Have you painted my pram yet [?] My Da doesn't have any time to paint my
pram."

I stared at her, unable to speak.

"If you paint my wee pram I'll give you something."

"I'm looking for my friends," I choked. "Can you help me find them [?]"

Melissa looked up at me with cold, sunken eyes. She was holding a doll.
It was missing an eye. Its dress was stained with blood.

"I need you to paint my wee pram," she said.

"But I..."

I cut myself short. She was gone. I was alone.

> in
I stepped inside.
*
A terrible and musty smell lingered in the kitchen. Insects and spiders
scuttled into dark corners. Beneath a narrow, dirt smeared window, was a
stainless steel sink and draining board, thick with rust and grime. On
the opposite wall was a rickety, cheap wooden unit, made up of shelves
and drawers, the yellow paint cracked and breaking off in jagged flakes.
In one corner was a large fridge, streaked with cobwebs. I could move
out into the back yard or east into the front room.

> e
I headed east.
*
The damp and uneven walls were hung with faded and colourless paper. An old
brick fireplace was against one wall, the chimney breast thick with dirt
and grime. The hearth was filled with ashes. The only furniture
remaining was a wooden rocking chair, covered in cobwebs. I could move
north, west or out.

> n
I headed north.
*
The back hallway was cramped and a draught was whipping around my
ankles. A narrow wooden staircase led upstairs. I could move south, east
and up.

> u
I headed up.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> w
I headed west.
*
I found myself in a small, damp smelling bathroom, with bare, creaking
wooden floorboards and darkly painted, dirt smeared walls. In the centre
of the room was a large iron bath, thick with rust. The only exit was east.

> x bath
*
A shiver danced violently along my spine as I looked at the bath.
Knuckles whitened as I gripped my cross and spoke a prayer. Lightning
ripped the sky and thunder boomed. I could feel the sweat trickling down
my face and running from my armpits. I watched in horror as the taps
turned and pumped freshly spilt innocent blood. I saw limbs thrusting
from the bubbling surface...and the screams...chilling, gut wrenching
screams...I called out in blind panic...taking out my cross, hands
clammy, fingers trembling...oh, God...the screams...coiling from the
darkness, seeping from a bubbling cesspit of human depravity; the abyss
gaped open before me, the horror snaked out its ugly, grasping
tentacles. I was shocked, revolted, disgusted, bombarded with every pain
that had been inflicted in this place, every lie that had been told; the
bell was tolling loud and clear, the awful sounds, the awful
scenes[?]this was truly a place of abhorrent evil!

I clamped my hands over my ears and screamed[?]

My breath began to slow[?]

I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked around. I could only hear the
storm outside. The bath was empty. No running taps of blood. I took more
deep breathes and it was only then I noticed something on the floor. It
was a small model pram...

> get pram
I picked up the model pram.

> paint pram
I made the best I could of it. I lightly covered the model pram with a
thin coat of pink paint. I sighed and wished I had paid more attention
in art class.

"Thank you," spoke Melissa.

She was standing infront of me, staring at me with unblinking eyes.
"Aye, no problem, wee lassie," I smiled.

"I don't like being in this place. I don't want to be here anymore. I
wish someone would find him so we can be free."

I watched her reach into her pocket and take out a looking glass.

"I hope this helps you find your friends. I wish you would find him.
Then we could all go to sleep."

"Him [?]" I frowned. "Who do you mean [?]"

"The bad man," said Melissa, pacing up and down. "The bad man who killed
my Ma and Da and who killed me and Drew."

"What are you talking about [?] Your brother Drew murdered you, Melissa,
and he can't hurt you anymore."

"It wasn't Drew," she roared, the wounds appearing across her face.
"That's why we're still here. The bad man killed us. He's been killing
us forever."

I screwed my eyes tight and screamed. I felt a rush of wind around my
body, tightening, choking me, seeping in through my nose, my mouth, my
ears, traveling through every single piece of me until it slammed me
against the ground and was gone. I got to my feet, slowly, groggy,
looking around for Melissa, trying to comprehend what she had told
me...because...that was...no, that was too horrible to believe...that
Drew Doherty was innocent...and died for nothing...and that...Oh, dear
God...if he was innocent...then the real killer could still be out here !!

> e
I headed east.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> n
I headed north.
*
I felt coldness in the pit of my stomach and a dull numbness in my mind
as I found myself in the bedroom of killer Drew Doherty. A brutal,
savage, cold blooded murderer had been spawned inside these walls.
I looked around the damp smelling bedroom and shivered. Bare wooden
floorboards streaked with light from a narrow, rain spattered window.
Against one cracked and damp riddled wall was a heavy looking, wooden
trunk. The only exit was south.

> move trunk
*
I dragged the trunk along the wall and spotted a dark smudge behind it.
I crouched down and realised it was about a dozen or so lines of tiny
writing that was too small to read.

> read writing
*
I took the looking glass from my pocket and held it over the tiny
writing. There was nothing sinister about them. A harmless sonnet of
love and devotion or something. It sounded familiar but I couldn't put
my finger on it. I got to my feet, puzzled, and then it dawned on me; I
snapped my fingers and smiled, it was an old folk song, written
by....well, I was never that into folk music...but I recognised it as
lyrics to an old folk song.

> s
I headed south.
*
The carpet had been torn up from the landing and the floorboards creaked
with every step. Outside, the storm continued to rage and beat its ugly
fists against the cottage. The roof groaned and the occasional sprinkle
of dust fell from the ceiling. I could move north into Drew's bedroom,
west into the bathroom, east along the landing or down to the hallway.

> e
I headed east.
*
I was in the middle of the upstairs landing with a door either side of
me. The door to John and Cheryl's bedroom was closed. I could move
north, south, east or west.

> sing song
I felt pretty stupid, singing aloud. I had a reasonable voice and I
could carry a few notes, but I just felt like an idiot singing an old
Irish folk song in a deserted cottage whilst a storm raged and Stephen
and Catherine were missing. I sung each and every line and when I
finished thunder cracked and the rain continued to fall. I scratched my
head, wondering why I had bothered.

"She used to sing that all the time," said a voice.

I spun round but there was no one around.

"I hated it."

It was a man's voice...but young...Drew Doherty [?]

"I really hated her," spoke the voice. "She was a whore."

"Drew [?]"

Silence.

"Drew, is that you [?]"

Nothing.

"Where's Catherine and Stephen [?] What have you done with them [?]"

> s
I stepped into John and Cheryl's bedroom. The room beyond was empty. I
stepped inside. The yellow painted walls were bare and the carpets had
been removed. A broad window looked out onto the front garden and across
miles of woodland. The day outside looked grey and the sky threatening.
The only exit was north.

> hang picture
I stepped back from the picture and stared at it.

"It's time," said Drew. "Aye, time you saw the truth about this wee town
of ours."

His young face was battered and bruised.

"I didn't do this...I didn't hurt anyone....I've never hurt anyone in my
life...look what they did to me [?]"

Iron spikes had been driven through the palms of his hands. "LOOK WHAT
HE MADE THEM DO TO ME !"

I felt my head swimming, my vision became blurry. I staggered across the
room and slammed into a wall. I slid to the ground and watched,
helpless, as the door opened and Cheryl Doherty came into the room
followed by another man. She quickly stripped off her kitchen apron and
clothes and slipped naked into a large double bed. The dark haired man
joined her. I tried to move but I had no strength. The scene was
spinning out of control - the shapes became more vague - flesh slapped
against flesh - there was laughter - muted shouting - then anger - the
door opening - John Doherty storming into the room - shaking his head -
sobbing - turning to flee - the dark haired man climbed from the bed and
picked up a machete - oh, God, oh, dear God - it wasn't Drew - it had
never been Drew - the dark haired man struck John Doherty first, hacking
and slashing at him. He went out into the back yard and murdered
Melissa. Cheryl Doherty came hurtling down the stairs, screaming, until
her screams were silenced and her head was severed...and then
Drew...poor Drew...coming through the front door...walking into the
bloodbath...the dark haired man turned and grinned and lay the machete
down on the floor...and slipped away from the cottage, into the dark,
into the woods...I...where was I...where...I opened my eyes...

*
The black night sky was drenched with glittering stars. The wind had
driven away the storm clouds and the clearing was bathed in silver
moonlight. The ground, soft and damp from the rain, was strewn with
fallen leaves and branches.

There was a row of open graves in the centre of the clearing. A large
broad shouldered man with dark hair was digging a third. He had his back
to me and was wearing black denim and mud spattered black boots. Hanging
from his belt was a machete, the blade caked with dried blood.

I could see a long shovel on the ground in front of me.

> get shovel
He straightened up and turned to face me. Cold steel grey eyes burned
into me. He grinned and pulled the machete from his belt.

I could see past him and into the open graves. It was Stephen and
Catherine, bodies twisted and brutalised, hacked and slashed.

I grabbed the shovel from the ground and swung it wildly at the grinning
maniac. He cut thin air with the machete as he stepped towards me. I
lashed the side of his face with the shovel. He reeled backwards and I
hit him a second time, across his skull, then a third, catching his
throat...I hit him with an upper cut, slamming the shovel into his chin,
the blow catapulting him into the air and tossing him to the ground...

I heard movement and spun round to see an old, craggy faced man step
from the trees, clutching a well oiled shotgun.

"Aye," he nodded. "Back to hell with you, Michael Tanner."

The old man nodded at me, then lowered the shotgun.

"I told you when you was a wee bairn not to come into these woods and go
near the Doherty cottage."

"Drew was innocent," I shouted. "This man killed my friends. I'm certain
he killed the Doherty family. I've seen things...I've seen things that..."

"Aye, things," nodded the old man, steeping into the moonlight; it was
then I saw it was Red Loomis. "We've all seen things at that cottage.
We've seen...people...souls burning with hatred for the one that
destroyed their lives. Aye, we've all seen things."

"Michael Tanner !" I frowned. "Where do I know that name from [?] Aye, is
he related to the original Michael Tanner, the man who founded Black Hill [?]"

Red Loomis stared at me.

"He is the original Michael Tanner who founded Black Hill...he's preyed
on County Clare for hundreds of years now and..."

It came spinning through the moonlight, hard and fast, the machete
sinking into Red's chest, striking a killer blow, the blade splitting
flesh and bone. Red stumbled to his knees, screaming, blood gushing from
the open wound, the shotgun slipping from his grasp. Tanner ripped the
machete from the old man's chest and used it on him a second time. Red's
severed head rolled along the ground and stopped at my shoes. I screamed
as Tanner began to stalk across the clearing towards me...

> get head
I grabbed the severed head and hurled it at Tanner. It struck him in the
face and he lost his balance. I ran for the shotgun and snatched it from
the ground. I spun round and hit him square in the chest. The shell
lifted him off his feet. I cocked the pump action and fired again and
again and again. The shells slammed into him one after the other and
hurled him into the open grave. I stood over him and emptied a few more
shells into his corpse...

I don't remember how many hours passed before the woods were bathed in
torchlight. I heard car engines and the beating blades of a helicopter
overhead. It was all over. The pain and the misery. Black Hill had to
face the truth of its past that an innocent young man had been murdered
for crimes he had not committed. I sat at the graves of Stephen and
Catherine, the empty shotgun across my lap and the blood stained machete
between my legs. I sat and I sobbed and I waited for the Guardai and the
locals to find me.

"Hey, you there, put down the weapon."

"I got him," I shouted, getting to my feet, dropping the shotgun. "He's
dead. He killed my friends."

The sound of the helicopter drowned out my cries. I was surrounded by
uniforms and a babble of voices.

"It's over," I exclaimed. "It's finished."

I led them to the open grave where Tanner was lying dead, his body
ripped with shotgun blasts.

"He killed Stephen and Catherine. He killed the Doherty family five
years ago."

We all stared down into an empty grave...

I'm still here with the Priests. They have looked after me for many
years. I have my own room with a single window. There are bars on the
windows but I am not a prisoner and this is not a prison. This is a
place where we can all be helped. I can see the sunshine through the
window. I can watch the flowers grow and watch the pigeons gather. The
walls of my room are painted white. I have a bed and a bible and a cross.
I've missed my family. I'm finding it hard to picture them now. I'm
looking forward to seeing them again. I'm looking forward to seeing
Mary, as well. It's been four years now since they found me cold and
shivering in the woods, clutching a shotgun and a blood stained machete.
No one believed I had killed Stephen and Catherine or Red Loomis but...I
was obviously somewhat disturbed, somewhat troubled...I had babbled
nonsense about visions and voices and ghosts and...and the Priests had
thought it best I stay with them.

The Priests have told me I can go home soon...

The Woods Are Dark II...available 2003

Thanks for playing. Cannibal

~game
*Completed*