FIREPLACE
You’re a little surprised that no one has thought to build a fire in the large fireplace yet, as chill and shadowy as the atmosphere of the house is. The sturdy mantle above the firebox holds a handbag and a small book of matches. An eerie portrait hangs above.
You poke around inside of the firebox. There are a few pieces of half-burned wood, and a lot of smaller bits of furniture and junk. You also notice what appears to be a unscathed photo sticking out from under a piece of wood.
The fireplace has a few pieces of half-burned wood inside it already, as well as some trash. If you have something to light it with, you can input the ID here:
You pick up the matchbook. There are a few matches inside, but they appear damp.
You step back to look over the portrait above the mantle. An imposing man stares past you, as if studying the house and its otherworldly occupants before him, yearning for an answer to the mysteries still held there. His eyes ache with the search for a solution, and his mouth appears to want to open, as if to shout an accusation and demand that justice be done. You don’t even need to feel the thick miasma of energy radiating from the portrait to recognize the man – he’s a young Charles McDermott, before the tragedy here and the following years had the time to eat away at him.
You’re preparing to turn away when the words ‘Look closer’ echo through your mind. You stare intently at the portrait and notice a particular section where the paint is peeling away.
‘Look closer.’
Sat almost thoughtlessly on the edge of the mantlepiece is a stately old handbag, deep black with gold trimmings. You carefully remove the handbag to probe its contents, but it’s locked. You’ll need a key to open it. If you have it, you can enter the ID here:
As you study the handbag, something moves out of the corner of your eye. Ashes from the fireplace begin to swirl about, filling the air with a dusty haze before molding itself into the shape of an elderly woman.
“Pardon me… oh! Why are you staring like that? A what? Oh, goodness. To think, a prognosticator, in a nice town like this. What would Papa say? Well, so be it, someone needs to be informed about the crimes that continue here!”
It’s not a big stretch to guess that this must be the neighbor, Birdie.
“All sorts of crimes! Theft! Vandalism! And… MURDER!”
“Murder? As in the night you were murdered?”
“What else? Not to mention all the other nonsense around here! What are you going to do about it?”
“I told you! Crimes! I had noticed one of my beloved garden gnomes was missing. I knew it must have been one of the McDermott children. My flower beds, my garden, and now even the harmless little gnomes were all victims of those little terrors’ attentions. As soon as I realized they must have stolen the gnome, I hurried over to tell Charles and Vera once and for all to do something about them. Of course, the storm started as soon as I arrived, and not a soul was here. Well, I decided I’d just wait right here so they couldn’t brush me off, and let myself in with their spare key under the flower pot. Hm? Oh, no dear, it’s fine, I actually grew up in this house, so it’s not really trespassing. Anyway, if they cared, they would’ve moved the spare key elsewhere. So when I got in, it was a touch chill with all the rain coming down. I heated up cocoa on the stove to wait for the McDermotts to return. When they did, it was pandemonium! I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and Vera barely acknowledged me, the nerve! The rest is blurry. One of those villains must have done this to me!“
“Well, how would you feel if your childhood home was stolen right out from under you? Charles was nice enough when it was just him and his little girl. However, the next thing you know, he’s married some uppity widow from who-knows-where, and she brings along her troublesome boy. Then it’s his cursed sister, bringing her ill-luck to town. And then he brings in some stranger to let rooms? My papa would never… All that, and not even the decency to invite a poor old neighbor like myself around to visit with her old homestead? Pah!“
“Of course! My papa built this place with his own hands, and I spent the flower of my youth here! Though, when times got tough, I had no choice but to downsize, selling the main house and keeping the carriage house for myself. I’d always intended to buy this place back but… Well. If I had known the sort of people Charles McDermott would house under this roof I never would have let it go! Especially knowing that someone here is a murderer! A murderer! Whatever mumbo-jumbo it is you deal in, you must deal with this!“
The fireplace has a few pieces of half-burned wood inside it already, as well as some trash. If you have something to light it with, you can input the ID here:
You pick up the matchbook. There are a few matches inside, but they appear damp.
You step back to look over the portrait above the mantle. An imposing man stares past you, as if studying the house and its otherworldly occupants before him, yearning for an answer to the mysteries still held there. His eyes ache with the search for a solution, and his mouth appears to want to open, as if to shout an accusation and demand that justice be done. You don’t even need to feel the thick miasma of energy radiating from the portrait to recognize the man – he’s a young Charles McDermott, before the tragedy here and the following years had the time to eat away at him.
You’re preparing to turn away when the words ‘Look closer’ echo through your mind. You stare intently at the portrait and notice a particular section where the paint is peeling away.
‘Look closer.’
Sat almost thoughtlessly on the edge of the mantlepiece is a stately old handbag, deep black with gold trimmings. You carefully remove the handbag to probe its contents, but it’s locked. You’ll need a key to open it. If you have it, you can enter the ID here:
As you study the handbag, something moves out of the corner of your eye. Ashes from the fireplace begin to swirl about, filling the air with a dusty haze before molding itself into the shape of an elderly woman.
“Pardon me… oh! Why are you staring like that? A what? Oh, goodness. To think, a prognosticator, in a nice town like this. What would Papa say? Well, so be it, someone needs to be informed about the crimes that continue here!”
It’s not a big stretch to guess that this must be the neighbor, Birdie.
“All sorts of crimes! Theft! Vandalism! And… MURDER!”
“Murder? As in the night you were murdered?”
“What else? Not to mention all the other nonsense around here! What are you going to do about it?”
“Murder? As in the night you were murdered?”
“What else? Not to mention all the other nonsense around here! What are you going to do about it?”
“I told you! Crimes! I had noticed one of my beloved garden gnomes was missing. I knew it must have been one of the McDermott children. My flower beds, my garden, and now even the harmless little gnomes were all victims of those little terrors’ attentions. As soon as I realized they must have stolen the gnome, I hurried over to tell Charles and Vera once and for all to do something about them. Of course, the storm started as soon as I arrived, and not a soul was here. Well, I decided I’d just wait right here so they couldn’t brush me off, and let myself in with their spare key under the flower pot. Hm? Oh, no dear, it’s fine, I actually grew up in this house, so it’s not really trespassing. Anyway, if they cared, they would’ve moved the spare key elsewhere. So when I got in, it was a touch chill with all the rain coming down. I heated up cocoa on the stove to wait for the McDermotts to return. When they did, it was pandemonium! I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and Vera barely acknowledged me, the nerve! The rest is blurry. One of those villains must have done this to me!“
“Well, how would you feel if your childhood home was stolen right out from under you? Charles was nice enough when it was just him and his little girl. However, the next thing you know, he’s married some uppity widow from who-knows-where, and she brings along her troublesome boy. Then it’s his cursed sister, bringing her ill-luck to town. And then he brings in some stranger to let rooms? My papa would never… All that, and not even the decency to invite a poor old neighbor like myself around to visit with her old homestead? Pah!“
“Of course! My papa built this place with his own hands, and I spent the flower of my youth here! Though, when times got tough, I had no choice but to downsize, selling the main house and keeping the carriage house for myself. I’d always intended to buy this place back but… Well. If I had known the sort of people Charles McDermott would house under this roof I never would have let it go! Especially knowing that someone here is a murderer! A murderer! Whatever mumbo-jumbo it is you deal in, you must deal with this!“