Old Castle

You step into an old, derelict castle, placing your bag of belongings at the door. You can't imagine you'll be in here very long. The only light illuminating the room comes from gaps in the walls, and the door you left open. You feel a strange pull, an urge to continue further. [[Explore further->Explore further]] or grab your things and [[Leave->Leave castle early]].

Exploring further, you find a small common room, from it, one passage leads [[left]], one leads [[right]], and in front of you, you see a large [[locked door]].

You turn on your heel and walk back home, whilst your mind knows it does not want to be there, there is still a strange pull drawing you to [[go back]]. [[Go home]]

You turn left, walking down a long, carpeted hallway. Lining the walls you see painting after painting, the faces scratched out by some kind of ink. Eventually you make it to an old dark door with a worn brass handle. [[Go inside]]. Go back down the [[hallway]].

You turn right and head down a seemingly endless hall. Eventually you come to a large oak door slightly ajar. [[See what is inside]]

You stop walking, take a deep breath, and turn around and start walking back. You find yourself breaking into a sprint, and quickly you make it back to the old castle door. [[Enter]]

You go on to live a long and unbothered life. Every now and then you think of what the inside of the castle could hold. [[Live out your life]]. Give in to the urge to [[return to the castle]]

You burst into the room, a sense of familiarity washes over you, yet you also feel its resentment towards you, like an abandoned child whose parent has finally come back. [[Explore further->Explore further]].

Inside you see what seems to be someone's study, you see shelves upon shelves filled with [[books and journals]], a large wooden desk with [[papers]] scattered all over, and shelves lined with strange looking [[jars]]. Go back to the rest of the hallways and [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle.

You search through some papers scattered all over the desk. You find many [[payment documents]] in a language you cannot seem to understand. You can also find what seems to be [[reports and documents]], and faded [[blueprints and plans]] Look at the [[rest of the study->castle study revisit]].

Looking closer you notice these jars are filled with eyeballs, fingers, ears, and all manner of parts of humans and what you believe to be small animals. Look at the [[rest of the study->castle study revisit]].

After making the decision to never return, you live out the rest of your life as normal. Finally a sense of quiet is brought to your constant thoughts of this castle as you die peacefully in your sleep many years later. [[The end]].

After thinking about the castle for days on end, you finally decide to return. You step up to the door and feel a distant feeling of familiarity. You step inside, and your life feels fulfilled. [[Explore further->Explore further]].

The world is no more. <p class="end-credit">An interactive story by Monique Raak</p> (link: "Start again")[(set: $key1 to false)(set: $key2 to false)(set: $hasKey to false)(go-to: "Start")]

You look closer at the documents and whilst you can't read what the specifics are, you can see very large sums of money and signatures written all over the papers. Look at the other [[papers]].

Rummaging around you can find a few stacks of documents, you can't make out most of the writing, but you can see a few sentences, '-ehaved well today, ate three quarters of f-' '-873 uncooperative, had to resort to the s-' 'patient 5370 has very nic-'. You go back to look at the rest of the [[papers]].

At the bottom of a stack of papers, you find some old, faded blueprints of what seem to be cells, and containment devices, but you can't figure out anything else. Look at the rest of the [[papers]].

Looking around, you see hundreds upon hundreds of books sitting on [[bookshelves]], on the [[floor]], and on the [[desk]]. Look at the [[rest of the study->castle study revisit]].

You take a look at the bookshelves, and you see what appears to just be a standard bookshelf. [[Books]] line the shelves, and more [[journals]] are scattered throughout the books. Look at the rest of the [[books and journals]].

You find a few books you recognise on the floor. Demons by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol, and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Look at the rest of the [[books and journals]].

You look at the desk and see what seems to be someone's personal journals. [[Read what is inside]], or look at the rest of the [[books and journals]].

You crack open the old journal and you see a name and a date written on the first page, William Abbotts 1844 You delicately turn the page to the first entry. You read, Elizabeth, I've finally bought it, the castle that is. I know you dreamed about it, living in a castle. We've finally done it. Just wait. It will all be okay. [[look at another page]], or close the book and look at the rest of the [[books and journals]]

You delicately turn to another page and read, Elizabeth, My dear, how I think you would love this place. The twists and turns, you always did love puzzles, and this, this is my biggest puzzle of them all. [[Read more]], or put it down and look at the rest of the [[books and journals]].

You slowly flip through the worn pages. As you get further through the words become illegible, almost as if they're in a language you don't understand. Go back to the [[books and journals]].

The shelves are lined with books in every possible space, books stacked upwards and in front of each other. You can tell that whoever owned them loved to read because you can see every genre, every size and every shape. Although a few stick out to you, Some especially [[tall, thick books]], and one that looks a bit like [[metal]]. Look at the rest of the [[bookshelves]].

You take one of the journals out of the shelves and open it, you see a name and date written on the first page, William Abbotts 1852 You turn the page to read some of the entries and are met with violent scribbles and messes of illegible writing. Whoever wrote this never intended for anyone else to see this. Look at the rest of the books on the [[bookshelves]].

You pull out a few of the books and flick through them, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. You pull out a third book and hear a loud 'CLUNK.' The book lurches forward and the bookshelf slowly grinds sideways, revealing a small dusty [[alcove]].

You pull the book off the shelf and it feels cold and metal in your hand. [[inspect further]], [[put it back]]

You look harder at the book and feel that there are no pages, and lifting the cover you find that the book opens to reveal not a book, but a [[box]] with a few trinkets inside.

You put this strange book back on the shelf with the other [[Books]].

You look in this book box and find a few [[old photos]], a [[necklace]], and an expensive looking [[watch]]. Look at the other [[Books]].

You lift a small stack of faded photographs from the box. The first shows a middle-aged man with his arm wrapped around a strikingly beautiful woman. His gaze is fixed on her, filled with a warmth that even the passing of time has failed to erase. The edges of the photograph have yellowed, but the moment captured within remains remarkably vivid. Turning it over you see a date written in careful handwriting. 15/07/1840 You set it aside and examine another photograph. This one depicts a young boy standing between a man and woman you assume to be his parents. Despite the photograph's age, one detail immediately catches your eye. Fastened around the older gentleman's wrist is the very same watch resting in the box. On the back you see another date. 05/09/1827 Look at the rest of the contents of the [[box]].

You carefully lift the watch from the box. Despite its age, it remains in remarkably good condition. The design is subtle but elegant, the kind of piece that would have been expensive without drawing attention to itself. Its polished surface catches the light as you turn it over in your hands. On the back, etched neatly into the metal are initials: J.A. Look at what is in the rest of the [[box]].

Nestled among the contents of the box is a tarnished silver locket. Delicate swirls and intricate patterns have been engraved into its surface, their detail worn down by age. As you carefully unfasten the clasp, you see a small photograph of the same beautiful woman from the pictures. Time has faded the image slightly, but her gentle smile remains unchanged. Look at the rest of the contents of the [[box]].

As the bookshelf slides away, you see a small empty alcove with a small, hip height pedestal with a [[little box]] sitting delicately on top.

You stand before the locked door and see two keyholes, one gold, one silver. (if: $key1 and $key2)[ [[Unlock the door->Unlock]] ] (else-if: $key1 or $key2)[ (link: "Try the key")[The key fits one of the keyholes, but the door is still locked. You need both keys.] [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle. ] (else:)[ [[Leave the door->Explore further]] ]

(if: not $key2)[Perched atop the pedestal rests a small velvet box, deep crimson and adorned with delicate gold patterns. It resembles an engagement ring box, though something about it feels oddly out of place here. The soft fabric seems strangely untouched by dust, as if it was placed here only moments ago. [[Open]] the box, [[leave]] the box and return to the study.] (else:)[The small velvet box remains on the pedestal, now empty. Look at the rest of the [[bookshelves]].]

You slowly pick up the box, its old velvet feeling brittle in your hands. You gently open the box and see a small, ornate key hanging on a necklace. Picking up the key, the silver metal feels strangely warm in your hands, and a sense of connection blossoms somewhere deep inside you. [[Take the key]] Place it back in the box, and look at the rest of the [[bookshelves]].

You decide it is best not to touch this small box, you leave to look at the rest of the [[Books]] in the study.

You lift the necklace out of the box and fasten the necklace around your neck. Look at the [[rest of the study->castle study revisit]]. (set: $key2 to true)

You slowly twist the handle, and are surprised to find the door isn't locked, the door creaks open. Inside you see what you can only assume is someone's bedroom. You see a grand four poster [[bed->bed]], a small [[vanity]] with a mirror, and a large wooden [[wardrobe]]. Go back and [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle.

You decide it is best not to go in just yet, you walk back down the hallway to the common room, the scratched out faces seem to be watching you a little too closely. [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle.

Dominating the centre of the room is a magnificent four-poster bed. Its carved wooden frame rises toward the ceiling, each post adorned with intricate patterns worn smooth by age. Rich curtains of deep velvet hang from the canopy above, giving the bed an almost regal presence. You step closer. The sheets are perfectly arranged, not a single crease disturbing their surface. The pillows sit untouched against the headboard, their embroidered cases immaculate beneath a thin layer of dust. The bed has clearly been prepared, yet it has not been slept in. You run your eyes across the mattress, searching for some sign of use—a depression in the fabric, a wrinkle in the blankets, anything. There is nothing. The room itself shows evidence of occupation. The wardrobe contains worn clothes. Personal belongings are scattered throughout the chamber. Someone has lived here, just not here. Next to the bed, you see two old yet pristine [[bedside tables]]. [[Look at the rest of the bedroom->bedroom revisit]].

The floorboards creak lightly under your feet as you make your way over to the vanity in the corner. As you look at it, you notice that it looks like no one has ever sat there. Dust has fallen perfectly around all the objects on the table, and everything is so perfectly lined up, as if someone has set it up for someone who never used it. A few bottles of [[perfume]] are lined up along the back, a [[handheld mirror and hairbrush]] sit next to it, and a little [[dish]] with some jewelery sits on the other side. [[Look at the rest of the bedroom->bedroom revisit]].

You approach the tall wooden wardrobe, struck by its imposing grandeur. The dark timber towers above you, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. As you pull the doors open, you find the interior divided neatly in two. On one side hangs a collection of exquisite women's dresses, each one immaculate, carefully arranged, and untouched by dust or wear. The fabrics seem almost new, as though they have been waiting for someone who never returned. The other side tells a different story. Long tailored trousers, slim fitting jackets, and crisp linen shirts are hung together with far less care. The sleeves are creased, the collars worn smooth from use. Something about the contrast truly unsettles you. [[Look at the rest of the bedroom->bedroom revisit]].

On the vanity, you see three small, unopened glass bottles of perfume. Looking at the faded labels, you can just make out that two supposedly smell of roses, and one of lavender. On the lid of each bottle, yet again you see the initials E.F painted in gold. Look at the rest of the [[vanity]].

You pick up the hand mirror, its carved wooden frame surprisingly solid in your grasp. The craftsmanship is exquisite, every curve and flourish carved with remarkable precision. Despite its apparent age, the wood is flawless, free from scratches, cracks, or any sign of wear. Turning it over, you discover a pair of initials painted across the back in elegant gold script: E.F. Beside it rests a hairbrush. The polished wood feels smooth and cool beneath your fingers. Like the mirror, it appears impossibly well preserved. Turning it over, you find a cluster of roses delicately carved into the back. Each petal is sharp and distinct, the intricate details as crisp as if they had been carved only yesterday. Look at the rest of the [[vanity]].

Resting in a small porcelain dish are a few carefully arranged pairs of earrings. Even at a glance, they are unmistakably valuable. Gorgeous diamonds and deep crimson rubies have been set into the metal, each gem catching the light and scattering it across the vanity in speckles of red and white. Beside them lies a single rose shaped brooch. Delicate and elegantly crafted, its petals seem almost lifelike. Like the other jewellery in the box, it appears immaculate, untouched by age or tarnish. (if: not $key1)[The last thing you notice is that lying next to the dish is a little, ornate gold key. You find yourself reaching for it, gently picking it up. Holding it in your hands you feel a warmth, and a sense of connection spread all through you. [[Place it back]], [[pocket it]]] Look at the rest of the [[vanity]].

Sitting solemnly next to the bed, you see two bedside tables, one on [[the left]] and one on [[the right]]. Look back at the [[bed->bed]]

Walking over to the table on the left, you see nothing but an old oil lamp, a book, and a small key sitting in the keyhole on the [[drawer->bedside drawer]].

On the right, you see nothing but an oil lamp, a small book, and a very dead rose in a vase. Look at the other [[bedside tables]].

You turn the key and the drawer falls open, the only thing inside is a leatherbound book. [[Open the book]], go back and look at the [[bedside tables]].

Inside, the first page reads, Dear Elizabeth, I know your favourite colour was red, but I sure hope I got your size correct. I love you, W.A [[Turn the page]], look at the other [[bedside tables]].

Elizabeth, No hours pass without me trying. Everything is so much colder without you, your return is promised my love. W.A Deciding it is getting too personal, you put the book down to look at the other [[bedside tables]].

You place it back on the table, right where you found it. You decide that this belongs to someone else. Better not take it. Look at the rest of the [[vanity]].

This recognition you feel is too much, you know this key must be important somehow. You decide it is best to keep it for now. (set: $key1 to true) Look at the rest of the [[vanity]].

(set: $key1 to false) (set: $key2 to false) (set: $hasKey to false)

You put both keys in their corresponding keyholes, turn them both, and the door smoothly swings open. Through the doorway you see a dark winding staircase leading [[down]]. Go [[back up]].

A pale, unnatural glow seeps from around the corner below the stairwell. It isn't bright enough to light the darkness, yet you can't seem to look away. The air feels heavy, thick with an unsettling stillness. A strange compulsion takes hold, urging you deeper down the silent staircase toward whatever waits beyond the bend. [[Continue]].

Looking down the staircase, you see a faint, eerie glow and decide that it is all too much and it really would be best if you don't go any further in, this place is weird enough as it is. [[Leave->Leave castle early]] the castle.

You round the corner down the stairs. SLAM The door upstairs crashes shut hard enough to rattle dust off the ceiling. Go back up and test the [[slammed door]], [[Go further]] down.

You hurry back upstairs and test the door handle. It rattles uselessly in your grip, the door refusing to move. After a few attempts, a sinking feeling settles in your stomach as you realise the door has been shut and locked from the outside. All you know now is that you're trapped, and there is no longer any way out. [[Go further]] down.

You descend further into the stairwell, each step echoing loudly. The air grows heavier the lower you go, and you find yourself moving more carefully than you intended, careful not to trip. Time loses its shape. Minutes fade to hours, or so it seems. Eventually, the descent ends. Before you stands a single wooden door, solitary and rather out of place, as though it has been waiting far longer than anything or anyone ever should. [[Open the door]].

You push the door open and, once again, find it unlocked, too easily, as if it had been waiting for you. Beyond it stretches a narrow hallway, impossibly long, vanishing into a dim distance. A full hundred metres at least, though your mind hesitates to trust that measurement. The floor is laid with beautiful wooden boards, each one carefully fitted by hand, yet worn in a way that suggests far more footsteps than any place like this should have seen. The stone walls rise on either side, massive and cold, their surfaces uneven—like something built long before anyone remembered why. [[Walk inside]].

You step into the dim hallway and are immediately met by the stale scent of age and decay. As your eyes adjust to the gloom, the far end of the corridor slowly emerges from the darkness, revealing another door at the very far end of the hall, almost identical to the one you just passed through. As you move forward, you notice that lining both sides of the hallway are what appear to be iron cells, their bars rusted and warped with time. Immediately you can tell they are some kind of [[cells]].

You step closer to the cells, drawn by a mixture of curiosity and unease. The first thing you notice are the heavy wrought iron shackles bolted directly into the stone walls. Their metal surfaces are dark with age, flecked with rust, and worn smooth in ways they shouldn't be. The cells themselves are painfully small, barely large enough for a person to sit comfortably, let alone stand. Their low ceilings and narrow walls seem designed not merely to imprison, but to break the spirit of whoever was locked within. The air inside feels colder somehow, and the darkness beyond the bars appears thicker than the shadows filling the hallway. As your gaze drifts along the row of cells, you notice faded numbers painted above some of the entrances. Most have long since cracked and peeled away, but a few remain visible. Crude white markings standing out against the stained stone. The numbering feels strangely deliberate, as though each cell once held someone important enough to be catalogued, yet unimportant enough to be forgotten. [[4873]], [[5370]], and [[8641]]

You approach cell 4873 and peer through the rusted bars. At first, it appears no different from the others. The cramped stone chamber is empty, no shackles on the stone, its walls stained by age and dampness. Then you notice the markings. Every surface inside the cell has been covered in writing. The walls are packed with scratches, tally marks, dates, and fragments of sentences carved directly into the stone. Some are neat and deliberate, while others have been gouged so deeply with insanity that pieces of the wall have broken away. It looks as though someone spent years filling every available space. As you follow the writing around the room, a pattern begins to emerge. The early entries seem almost orderly, but further on the handwriting becomes increasingly erratic. Dates stop making sense, words are repeated over and over, and entire sections have been scratched out in frustration. One thing appears more often than anything else. A number. 4873. The number has been carved hundreds of times across the walls, floor, and ceiling. At first you assume it is simply the cell's designation, but the sheer obsession with which it has been repeated suggests otherwise. 4873 4873 4873 A cold realization settles over you. Nowhere in the cell is there a name. No record of who was imprisoned here. Only the number 4873, carved again and again until it became the prisoner's only identity, and perhaps the only thing they remembered about themselves. Look at the rest of [[the cells]].

You make your way to cell 5370. At first glance, it appears no different from the others, its rusted bars and stained stone swallowed by shadow. Then your eyes settle on the shackles. A pair of human arms still hangs from them. For a moment, your mind struggles to make sense of what you're seeing. The wrists remain locked in the restraints, the flesh withered and discolored by time. Yet there is no body beneath them. No bones scattered across the floor. No sign of where the rest of the person went. The stone wall behind the shackles bears several dark, dried stains. Though age has faded them to a dull brown, their shape leaves little room for question, you know this must be blood. The largest stain spreads across the wall at roughly head height, surrounded by smaller flecks and streaks that radiate outward. An uneasy silence fills the cell. The longer you stare, the more wrong it feels. Not simply because of what remains, but because of what doesn't. Whatever happened here should never be seen again. Look at the rest of [[the cells]].

You stop at the final cell and peer through the rusted bars. At first, it is only shapes on the floor, small, uneven piles that don’t quite make sense in the dark. Then your eyes adjust, and the truth of it settles in slowly, like something you wish you could unsee but can’t look away from. They are bones. Small ones. Several child sized skeletons lie inside the cramped cell, scattered where they fell or pressed into the corners as if the stone walls could offer safety. Time has taken everything from them, leaving only pale remains and fragments of clothing too worn to identify properly. The arrangement feels wrong in a way that is hard to put into words. Not chaotic, not random, just still. Each of them is oriented toward the door, as though even at the end they were waiting for someone to come and take them out of here. Near the front, one smaller skeleton is closest to the bars. Its hand is still caught in the narrow viewing slot, fingers frozen where they once must have gripped and pulled. The cell is silent, but it doesn’t feel empty. Look at the rest of [[the cells]].

You step away from the cell and look at the other cells: [[4873]] [[5370]] [[8641]] [[Move on]], you are not sure how much more of this you can take.

You force yourself to move on. As you pass the rows of cages, a deep sorrow seeps through the bars. The hallway stretches onward in oppressive silence, broken only by the echo of your footsteps. Time seems to lose meaning in the gloom. Eventually, a weathered door emerges from the darkness, standing alone at the end of the corridor. It waits silently, as though it has been expecting you. [[Approach the door]].

You approach the door with caution. As you draw closer, a strange sense of familiarity settles over you. The weathered wood, the rusted handle, the scratches etched across its surface, it all looks exactly the same. You stop a few steps away, staring at it in disbelief. This is the very door you walked through to enter the hallway. Confusion pools in your mind. You've been walking forward the entire time. There were no turns, no other exits, no way you could have circled back. Yet somehow, here it is, waiting for you at the end of the corridor. Open [[the door]].

You slowly wrap your fingers around the handle and push it down. The door opens with a reluctant groan, its ancient hinges protesting the movement. The corridor outside belonged beneath a centuries old castle, rough stone walls, damp mortar, and careful wooden floors. What lies beyond the doorway belongs somewhere else entirely. A narrow hallway stretches into the distance, lined with grimy white tiles and smooth plaster walls. The ceiling is flat and unnaturally precise, broken only by rows of fluorescent light fixtures, casting a pale, lifeless glow. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and dust. For a moment, your mind struggles to make out what you're seeing. This corridor looks so incredibly out of place under this centuries old castle, more like a forgotten wing of a hospital, or a government facility abandoned decades ago. The transition is so abrupt it feels wrong. There should be some trace of the castle here. Exposed stone. Crumbling brick. Anything. The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. The hallway waits. [[Step inside]].

You step through the doorway and feel like you are in an entirely different world, the old tiles feel slippery under your feet. [[Continue down]] the hallway.

You continue down the hallway. No doors. No windows. Just a stretch of empty corridor disappearing into the distance. You keep walking and eventually come to a plain [[white door]].

You approach the door. It is plain white, almost painfully so. Near the center, there is a patch of faded discolored marks where words once were. Whatever was written there has long since faded away. See what is [[inside]]

You push the door, it drags along the tile floor with a heavy scrape. Inside you see a room in the same hospital style to the hallway with a bizarre assortment of things to see beneath an old castle. You see a few [[hospital beds]], a tall [[filing cabinet]], and a [[desk with a computer]]. Leave the [[room]]

Sitting in the middle of the room in a neat row are three hospital beds. At least, that's what they appear to be at first glance. The longer you look, the more they resemble mortuary tables. Their metal frames are dull and stained with age. Thin white sheets are pulled tight across each bed, so smooth and wrinkle free that they seem untouched for years. The air around them carries the faint scent of disinfectant, barely masking something fouler lingering beneath it. Beside each bed rests a small metal tray. Scalpels, forceps, scissors, and other instruments lie carefully arranged upon them. Every tool is perfectly ordered, as though someone had taken great care to place them exactly where they belonged. A thin layer of dust covers the trays, yet the instruments themselves gleam in the dim light. The room is silent. You cannot shake the feeling that the beds are waiting for occupants. Look at the [[rest of the room->facility room revisit]].

Looming in the corner is a grey filing cabinet with three large drawers. Opening two of them you see that whilst they were likely once full, they've got nothing but dust sitting in them now. Opening the bottom drawer you see only [[four files]] lying on top of each other.

In the far corner of the room sits a small wooden desk with nothing but a little pencil pot, an empty notebook and a [[computer]].

You step out of the room, closing the door behind you. You move further down the hall, thoughts still lingering on what you found in that room. You walk for a while, but this time the air feels different, almost sadder. Eventually you come to another plain white door, this time it has no traces of writing. Open the [[door.->facility specimen room]]

Perched on the desk is probably the most out of place thing here. A computer. The computer is unremarkable in every way, old, but entirely unremarkable. You press the keys a few times. The screen flickers awake. PASSWORD REQUIRED No username, no clues, just the two words glowing against the dark screen. For a moment you just stare at the screen. Something feels very wrong, not because of what it is, but where. This place is empty and forgotten. This thing shouldn't be running. Look at the [[rest of the room->facility room revisit]].

You gently pick up each file, on the front they each read, [[Patient 4873]] [[Patient 5370]] [[Patient 8641]] [[Patient 0002]] Look at the [[rest of the room->facility room revisit]].

You open the manila folder and the first page has some information about whoever this was, age, weight, sex, that sort of thing, and a name. Their name was Theodore Adaway. Next to it is clipped a little photo showing a middle aged man with peppered hair and kind, green eyes. As you flick through the pages, you can read very little information as most is redacted with heavy black ink, but you get to an unredacted page titled [[final report]].

Opening this file you see a file with a small amount of information on whoever this is, and a name, Eleanor Santos And a small photo clipped to the file showing a young Eastern European woman, maybe around 20. [[Open the file]]

The recognition hits you as soon as you pick up the file, Patient 8641 was the group of children. Opening the file you expect to see medical records, notes, photographs. Instead the file is almost completely empty, only a singular sheet rests inside titled: [[Research Notes - Subject Group 8641]]

You open this file, all you see inside is two sheets, one with only a [[name]] and a date, and one with a small amount of [[writing]].

You flip to the last page of the file to a page titled: FINAL REPORT Underneath it reads 04/10/1939 FINAL REPORT — SUBJECT 5370 Patient 5370 DECEASED The subject failed to produce any meaningful results. Physiologically, he proved unsuitable for continued experimentation. Every incision revealed only additional layers of flesh and tissue. Nothing of interest was recovered despite repeated procedures. Recovery times were excessive, often requiring several months before testing could resume. Resources allocated to the subject consistently outweighed any value obtained. Termination was authorized. In the days preceding disposal, the subject displayed increasingly erratic behavior, repeatedly claiming there was "something inside" him. Routine examinations failed to verify these claims. His condition was deemed irrelevant to the study. The termination process was prolonged beyond expectation. Conventional methods failed to produce immediate results, requiring repeated use of force before death could be confirmed. The remains were left secured within Cell 5370 pending collection. Upon return the following morning, the restraints were found intact. Only the subject's arms remained secured within them. The remainder of the body was not recovered. A full search of the surrounding facility yielded no additional remains. The cell itself contained no evidence explaining the disappearance. The restraints showed no signs of failure, and the cell had not been breached. No explanation can be provided. The incident has been classified as an unexplained loss of biological material. Cell 5370 has been sealed. Further investigation has been deemed unnecessary. Look at the other [[files]].

You place the file back in the drawer. Look in another file. [[Patient 4873]] [[Patient 5370]] [[Patient 8641]] [[Patient 0002]] Go back and look at the [[rest of the room->facility room revisit]].

Looking down you see a quite short report, it reads: Research Notes - Subject Group 8641 For the sake of variety, it was decided that children should be used. A mistake. Children cry. They scream. They beg. You would assume that would give them more of a soul but that couldn't be further from the truth. Every incision produced the same result, flesh, tissue, blood, noise. We searched deeper each time, convinced we'd eventually uncover it. We never did. The group remained for three years before being deemed unsuitable for continued study. Resource expenditure exceeded any conceivable return. Starvation proved to be the most informative stage. Not scientifically. Simply the most entertaining. I still hear them sometimes. Strange. I never found their souls, yet something clearly refused to leave. Read the other [[files]].

You open the file and flick through it, yet again most is redacted, but the last page remains. [[Patient report]].

You flick to the last page, looking at a page titled PATIENT REPORT and you read what it says. Patient 4873: Deceased For the kind of screams she produced, you would expect something more… substantial left behind. Some trace of presence, a soul. But there isn’t. Just noise. Constant, useless noise. She spent most of her time wailing and shrieking at nothing in particular. Staff lodged complaints daily at first, then hourly, then not at all. It became background. Eventually even the reports stopped mentioning it properly, it was easier that way. Less clutter. There are very few meaningful notes on her otherwise. Frankly, she was one of the least productive subjects we’ve processed. If anything, she served as a reminder of how fragile the human mind becomes under sustained correction. How quickly it collapses when pressure is applied correctly. Pathetic is not an overstatement. It is the correct classification. The only real impact she had was the structural damage done to her cell, incoherent markings, illegible scratches. Still, even that has value. All degradation does, in its own way. You learn what breaks first. Look at the rest of the [[files]].

A small name and date is written on the front of the faded cream paper. Grace Palmer 1835 Look at the rest of the [[Patient 0002]] file.

On the second page you can see some writing. It is a different style to the other files you've looked at. Patient 0002 We needed a replacement 0001 failed. Massively. Her third night here she smashed her dinner tray and slit her wrists. We never even got her name. This will not be a quick process. Grace is pleasant and surprisingly willing. Whilst we have not found much, we've searched her brain for signs of any soul. Each time she takes longer to heal, I don't know how much longer she will last. NOTE: She's very pretty. End of file. Look at the rest of the [[files]].

You slowly push the door open to a dim room. The first thing to hit you is the strong smell of old, decaying roses, but once your eyes adjust to the darkness you see a large glass [[tube]] sitting at a slight angle upwards. You also notice faded wear marks in the floor, as if someone has been coming in here often.

You cautiously approach the tube. The scent of roses grows stronger with every step, sweet enough to become suffocating. It clings to the air, masking something older beneath it. A small golden plaque is fixed near the top of the glass. Elizabeth Rose Foster So that's what the initials meant. Your eyes drift lower. A body. A woman. You immediately recognise her as the woman in the photos you found. She's clutching a preserved rose in her hands, resting so peacefully, almost as if she's simply sleeping, although something tells you she's not. The silence surrounding her is heavy, almost sacred. The roses bloom, the glass gleams, and yet the woman inside remains frozen in a moment that should have ended long ago. A glint of gold catches your eye. On the fourth finger of her left hand rests a wedding band, crowned with a brilliant diamond that still sparkles beneath the dim light. Someone loved her enough to ask. Someone loved her enough to preserve her. Or perhaps... Someone loved her enough that they simply couldn't let her go. Go back into [[the hallway.->facility hallway after Elizabeth]]

You step out of the room, gently closing the door behind you, leaving with an added sorrow you may never truly shake. [[Keep going]] down the hall.

You move further down the hallway, passing a few doors, but after testing them, you find they're all locked. The corridor slowly changes around you. Cracks spread across the tiles beneath your feet, damp stains creep over the walls, and the peeling plaster twists into shapes that look uncomfortably like faces. Whenever you look directly at them, they're only cracks again. Going through the hall, its floor gets more uneven, more broken, the walls crumble, large cracks and gaps appearing in the plaster. Eventually you come to a door. A door you have seen three times now. The same door you saw at the entrance to this hallway and the previous one. Same scratches, dents, and wear, only this time it has been fastened with a large, tarnished gold latch. [[Unlatch the door]] and enter.

You gently lift the latch and ease the door open. Beyond lies a room swallowed by darkness, broken only by the faint light spilling in from the hallway behind you. At your feet rests a candle beside a flint and steel. After a few strikes, the wick catches, casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. As the shadows retreat, the outlines of bookshelves, furniture, and dusty walls emerge. You realise you've stepped into another [[study.->final study entrance]]

As your eyes adjust to the candlelight, the study slowly comes into focus. A cluttered [[wooden desk]] sits in the centre of the room, facing the doorway. One wall is almost entirely covered in [[sheets of paper]], while a stout [[dark oak bookshelf]] stands opposite. In the corner, a lone [[wooden crate]] rests beneath a layer of dust.

You approach the desk. Compared to the grand one you saw before, this one seems almost lonely, its surface buried beneath a thick layer of undisturbed dust. Scattered across it are loose papers and worn texts, though the ink has faded beyond recognition. Beside them sit a few [[teacups]] and a small [[framed picture]]. Beneath the desk, you notice a [[drawer->final study drawer]] with a small silver keyhole, and you get the sense that your time in this castle has led up to what is in this drawer.

You approach the wall, unsure of what you'll find. As you step closer, you realise it's covered in all manner of things, [[photographs]], [[newspaper clippings]], and worn [[maps]] pinned together in a chaotic mess. Handwritten notes, strange symbols, and faded lines connect the pieces in ways that make no sense. You search for a pattern, but the more you look, the less you understand.

You approach the modest bookshelf. Unlike the others, it holds barely two dozen volumes, stacked haphazardly rather than neatly arranged. Their worn spines reveal an odd mix of [[medical books]], [[religious texts]], and other random, nameless books. Look at the rest of the [[study]].

You approach the large wooden crate tucked away in the darkest corner of the study. It has no lid, no hinges, no sign it was ever meant to be closed. You peer in. At first, it looks like nothing more than a jumble of worthless trinkets. A tarnished pocket watch frozen at an unfamiliar time. A faded handkerchief, stiff with age. A child's toy. A cracked wedding ring. A lock of blonde hair tied carefully with a pale blue ribbon. A single leather glove. An old key with no label. Hundreds more lie beneath them, layered together without any pattern you can make sense of. None of it seems valuable, yet every object has been handled with unsettling care, as though each one mattered more than gold. Scratched crudely into the inside wall of the crate is a single word. MEMORIES Your eyes drift back to the collection. These are not random keepsakes. They never were. They are pieces of people, objects carried every day, treasured, mourned, now forgotten. Small fragments of lives that ended here. One by one, you begin to understand. Every patient left something behind. And someone made sure it was never thrown away. Look at the rest of the [[study]].

Atop the desk rests a small stack of porcelain teacups, each bearing a slightly different pattern, yet all adorned with the same delicate roses and a fine gilded rim. The uppermost cup is stained with the dried remains of old tea, while those beneath remain perfectly clean, carefully stacked as though still waiting to be used. Look at what is on the rest of the [[wooden desk.->final study desk revisit]]

Oriented toward the chair sits a delicate wooden picture frame, cradling an old sepia-stained photograph worn by time. Pick up the [[picture]].

Under the desk sits a singular locked drawer. (if: $hasKey)[ [[Unlock the drawer->Open Drawer]] ] (else:)[ [[Leave the drawer->final study desk revisit]] ]

You gently lift the framed photograph. It depicts a younger man, whom you presume to be William Abbotts, standing beside the same striking woman, who you now know to be Elizabeth. She clings to his arm with a faint smile, though her face is pale and her frame noticeably frail. Behind them stands the familiar front door. You know it instantly. You have seen this doorway countless times, painstakingly recreated throughout this castle. It was never just a door, never just decoration. it was a memory. A single moment this man had desperately tried to recreate, over and over, refusing to let time take it away. [[Turn the picture over]].

Flipping over the simple wooden frame, you see written on the back (align:"=><=")+(box:"===XXXXXXXXXXXXXX===")[21st March 1838] (align:"=><=")+(box:"===XXXXXXXXXXXXXX===")[34 Phillimore St Nottingham] Look at what is on the rest of the [[wooden desk.->final study desk revisit]]

You inspect what appear to be old newspaper clippings. Most are faded missing person notices, their ink worn thin with age. Others are death notices, printed only after hope had long since faded and the search had finally been abandoned. One name catches your eye. Eleanor Santos. She was held here. You read further. She had a husband, and two young children. The article speaks of a loving mother who vanished without a trace, leaving behind a family that never stopped searching. A later clipping, yellowed and brittle, declares her legally dead. Her husband's statement sits beneath the headline, thanking everyone who had helped look for her, while quietly admitting that it was time to let her rest. Look at the other [[sheets of paper.->final study evidence wall revisit]]

Your gaze drifts across the wall until it settles on a collection of yellowed maps, their edges torn as though they had been violently ripped from the pages of an old atlas. Bright red circles stain the paper, each one marking a different, seemingly unrelated location. At first, the pattern eludes you. Then a chilling thought begins to take shape. They are not random. They are homes. The last known homes of the patients. Look at the other [[sheets of paper.->final study evidence wall revisit]]

Pinned between the scattered pages are dozens of faded photographs. Each captures an ordinary moment, a man leaving a shop, a woman resting on a park bench, a child walking beside a parent. Different faces, different places, yet every image shares the same unsettling quality. None of them are looking at the camera. None of them know they are being watched. They carry on with their lives, blissfully unaware that, soon after these moments were captured, someone would capture them. Look at the rest of the [[sheets of paper.->final study evidence wall revisit]]

You step away, your thoughts still swirling about what all of this is. Looking around you still see a cluttered [[wooden desk]] sitting in the centre of the room. One wall is almost entirely covered in [[sheets of paper]], and a stout [[dark oak bookshelf]] stands opposite. In the corner, you see a lone [[wooden crate]]. Once you've looked at the contents of this study, you step further in, shining your candle light [[around]] the remainder of the study.

On the desk you see a few [[teacups]], and a small [[framed picture]]. Beneath the desk, you notice a [[drawer->final study drawer]] with a small silver keyhole. Look at the rest of the [[study]].

You glance over at the rest of the wall, seeing [[photographs]], [[newspaper clippings]], and a few [[maps]]. Look at the rest of the [[study]].

A handful of medical textbooks line the shelf. As you flip through them, you find exactly what you'd expect: detailed anatomical sketches, physiological explanations, and pages describing the uses of various medicines. Yet something catches your eye. Several volumes have [[loose papers]] protruding from between their pages, as if someone had hastily shoved them away.

Nearly half the shelf is devoted to religious texts. Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, and countless other faiths sit crammed together, their pages worn from obsessive reading. Many are filled with faded notes and frantic scribbles in the margins, though time has rendered most of them unreadable. As you pull more volumes from the shelf, you notice five whose covers have been marked with thick strokes of dried red ink. The first reads: **DOES** The next: **MATTER** Then: **EVEN** Followed by: **IT** And finally: **NOT** You lay each book out on the floor, the words making no sense. **DOES MATTER EVEN IT NOT** The words fail to form any reason. Then you realize the books weren't meant to stay in this order. You swap them around a few times. **DOES IT EVEN NOT MATTER?** No. Again. Finally, the intended message reveals itself, **IT DOES NOT EVEN MATTER.** Look at the rest of the books on the [[dark oak bookshelf]].

You carefully pull a few of the loose sheets free. Each shows an exquisitely detailed sketch of the human body but the longer you look, the more wrong they become. Bones bend where they shouldn't, organs are drawn where none belong, and thin, branching lines weave through the flesh like roots. Every page is dated, each one subtly different from the last. A realization settles over you. These aren't copies of a medical text. They are revisions, this man's own attempts to redraw the human body, as though he believed anatomy itself had been misunderstood. Look at the other books on the [[dark oak bookshelf]].

Casting your candle further around the room, you see a small wooden archway leading to another room, hidden not by a door, but a thick embroidered wool curtain. [[Open the curtain]]

You cautiously approach the curtain and push it aside, feeling the old wool fibres beneath your fingertips. Beyond you see a smaller, cozier room. This one appears much less impressive than any other room you've entered, yet this one feels the most homely. Further in you see a stone [[hearth]] with a few remnants of ash and coals remaining, a large leather [[armchair]] with its back to the archway, and a small table next to the armchair with an antique brass [[gramophone]] sitting on top.

You move closer to the hearth, finding nothing but ash and half burnt logs resting in the cold remains of the fire. (if: not $hasKey)[On the mantlepiece, buried beneath a thick layer of dust, you spot a small [[key]]. ]Looking down, you notice several scraps of [[burnt papers]] hidden among the charred logs. Look around the rest of the [[room.->sitting room return]]

You step around the front of the armchair Your blood runs cold. Someone is sitting there. Your heart lurches as you stumble back, every instinct screaming at you to run. But the figure doesn't move. It can't. It's a corpse. Its skin clings tightly to yellowed bone, stretched thin across a face frozen in a silent, blank expression. Dust blankets its shoulders, and the tattered remains of very expensive clothes hang from its frame. It has been dead for decades, perhaps centuries. The room feels suffocatingly still. How could this be here? Who left it? How has no one ever found it? Your eyes drift to its hands. A familiar [[wedding band]] encircles one skeletal finger. The other grips a dark [[glass bottle]] so tightly it seems as though even death could not pry it loose. Look around the rest of the [[room.->sitting room return]]

You lean closer to the gramophone, in awe that you're seeing one in person, as you've never seen one in person before now. It's really nothing out of the ordinary, except for a singular record snapped clean in half sitting on top. Look at what is in the rest of this [[room.->sitting room return]]

You look around the sitting room. The stone [[hearth]], large leather [[armchair]], and antique brass [[gramophone]] remain where you left them. Go back to the [[study]].

(if: not $hasKey)[You blow the dust away, revealing a simple silver key, which you assume is for the drawer under the desk. Take the [[key.->take silver key]] ] (else:)[The key is no longer on the mantlepiece. Look at the rest of the [[hearth]].]

You pick through the burnt logs and see a few snippets of paper remaining, they say: -ife and deat- -failed yo- -ve you forev- -ways be mi- Look at the rest of the [[hearth]].

You slip the key into your pocket. (set: $hasKey to true) Look at the rest of the [[hearth]].

Inside the drawer sits a lonely leather bound journal. [[Open the journal]]

You open the journal to its first page. The ink is faded, but the words remain clear. **13/6/1844** *Today I begin.* *I have fully begun the search for a soul worthy of you. There are only a handful of patients under my care at present, but there will be more. There must be more. I will not stop until I find a way. I speak to you every day, Elizabeth. I sit beside you and tell you everything, just as I always did. Please, tell me you can still hear my voice. Tell me this silence does not mean you are truly gone. I swore I would never leave you. Death cannot be the thing that breaks that promise.* **Love, W.A.** Turn to another [[page]].

You gently ease the wedding band from his skeletal finger, surprised by how brightly the gold still gleams beneath the dust. Turning it over in your hand, you notice a faint engraving, almost erased by time. W.A. William Abbotts. Your stomach drops. This is him. The man behind the horrors buried beneath this castle. The man who sacrificed countless lives, driven by an obsession to bring his wife back from the dead. After all this time... he has been sitting here, alone. Dead. What else were you expecting? He lived in the mid 1800s. He was always going to be dead. You'd spent so long chasing the monster that, somehow, part of you had convinced yourself he'd still be waiting at the end. You let out a hollow laugh at your own foolishness. Then your thoughts return to the computers. No matter how many times you try to explain them away, they don't belong here. So if William Abbotts has been dead for centuries... Who put them there? Go back to the [[armchair]].

Clutched in his other hand is a small, dark glass bottle. Most of its label has long since peeled away, but a single word survives. Laudanum. You know little about it, but you do know too much can be fatal. You swallow hard. It doesn't take much imagination to understand how William Abbotts met his end. Go back to the [[armchair]].

**3/9/1845** *My search has proven unsuccessful, I'm failing you my love.* *Every soul I think I may have found slips through my fingers, and with each failure I fear I am losing you. I can feel you fading, Elizabeth, or perhaps it is only my memory of you that fades. I do not know which thought frightens me more.* *I speak your name into the silence, but the silence is all that answers.* *I miss you more than words can bear. This house has become a tomb without you in it. I don't believe I can endure another year alone.* **With all my love,** **W.A.** [[Read further]].

You flip to the last page, bracing yourself for what you may find. **1859** *Elizabeth.* *I have failed you.* *After all these years, after all I have sacrificed, after every promise I made. I have failed you.* *I thought I could defy death. I thought if I searched long enough, if I tried hard enough, if I gave enough of myself, then the world would finally return what it had taken from me.* *I was wrong.* *The faces of those I lost to my work haunt me more than the memory of your death ever did. I see them when I close my eyes. I hear them when this house falls silent.* *I wanted you back.* *I needed you back.* *But somewhere along the way, I stopped searching for you.* *I was only running from the moment I lost you, the frail moment where you slipped away.* *I cannot remember the last time I heard your voice. I cannot remember the warmth of your hand. I fear I have spent so long chasing your return that I have forgotten how it felt to have you beside me.* *I am sorry, Elizabeth.* *I am so very sorry.* *If there is mercy beyond this life, perhaps I will find you there. Perhaps you will look down on me and see the man you married, not the man I became.* *The house is quiet now.* *The experiments have stopped.* *The voices have stopped.* *Soon, so will I.* *Wait for me.* *Please.* *And we can finally be together* **—William Abbotts** Put the journal [[back]].

You gently place the journal back to its final resting place, locking the drawer after you. You walk back over to the hearth and delicately place the key back exactly where you found it. (set: $hasKey to false) Go back to the [[study]]. [[Leave the castle.->Leave the castle]]

You take one final look around the room, making sure everything is in its proper place. Walking back up the hallway, as you pass Elizabeth, you decide to step into her room. Nothing is said, but you place a soft kiss upon the plaque. You pass the cages, now knowing the horrors that happened. You open the door and start climbing the long, winding staircase back up. Once you reach the top door, you find it unlocked. As you get to the door you first came through. Nothing seems different, but it is now nighttime outside. You go to pick up your bag to leave and find it no longer there. It has been replaced with a single note reading: *I know you were here.* [[The end]]

You look around the bedroom. The grand four-poster [[bed]], small [[vanity]], and tall wooden [[wardrobe]] remain where you left them. Go back and [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle.

You look around the room. The [[hospital beds]], tall [[filing cabinet]], and [[desk with a computer]] remain where you left them. Leave the [[room]].

You look around the study. The shelves of [[books and journals]], desk covered in [[papers]], and strange [[jars]] remain where you left them. Go back to the hallways and [[Explore further->Explore further]] through the castle.

<div class="title-layout"><div class="title-copy"><h1>Old Castle</h1><p class="title-byline">An interactive story</p>(link-goto: "Begin", "Start")<details><summary>Content note</summary><p>Contains descriptions of death, body horror, medical experimentation, harm to children, self-harm and suicide.</p></details></div><img class="title-logo" src="logo-master.svg" alt="" width="512" height="512"></div>