[Let's Play] Storytrails 4: The Haunters of Marsh Hall

[Darth Rabbitt]

Not sure there's much to cover in this one since Storytrails books have no rules. I figure this is good time to do a horror book since October is spoopy Halloween time. Without further ado:

Mr Crabtree leaned forward, pushed a pair of thick, horn rimmed spectacles further down his nose and looked at me over the top of them. Seated there at his large desk, he looked every inch the lawyer.
'How well did you know your uncle Jasper?' he asked me.
I told him hardly at all. I had met him once when I was a small child. I knew that he had been hurt in a riding accident when he was still a young man and that he could only get about in a wheel chair. I knew that he lived in some big, old house, and that was all.
Crabtree sniffed.
'Well,' he said, 'it seems that your uncle has remembered you better than you remember him. He has left you everything in his will.'
I didn't know what to say. I had never expected my uncle Jasper to leave me anything.
'It isn't a fortune,' said Crabtree. 'There's not a lot of money. There is the house, of course—Marsh Hall. The only thing to do with that is sell it.'
'I think I'd like to see it,' I told him.
'You wouldn't,' he replied. 'It's big, it's old, it's gloomy, and it's falling to pieces. Leave the selling to me and I might get you forty thousand for the house and its contents.'
I told him that I would still like to see it. He pushed his spectacles back onto his nose. 'Oh dear!' he said. 'I can see that I shall have to tell you. I'm a lawyer, so it isn't my job to know about ghosts and haunted houses, but I do know about Marsh Hall. Heaven knows why your uncle lived in the place. He couldn't keep servants. The local people won't go near it. I'll tell you—I'm not a nervous man, but I wouldn't spend a night in Marsh Hall. There's only one word to describe Marsh Hall—"evil". Please take my advice, and sell it.'

Do you believe Mr Crabtree, or would you rather make up your own mind about Marsh Hall? If you want to find out for yourself, then turn to page 2.

A google search suggests that 40k GBP in 1982 (when the book was originally published) is worth about 122k GBP today, or about 157k USD. Anyhow, there's no choice for believing Mr Crabtree, so it's on to page 2:

It was beginning to rain as I stepped out of the train onto the platform at Marsh End Station. I still had four miles to go to reach Marsh Hall. I had been told that there would be a taxi, but the road outside the station was empty.
The porter who had taken my ticket was in the booking office and putting on his hat and coat. I asked him about the taxi.
'Couldn't say,' he said, 'not for sure. Most times he comes. Others, he doesn't. Where would you be wanting to go to?'
I told him, Marsh Hall. He stopped fastening his coat and gave me an odd look.
'Nobody doesn't want to go to Marsh Hall,' he said.
I thought that he might be more helpful if I told him that I was the new owner. I explained that my uncle had left the Hall to me in his well.
'Didn't do you no favour then!' was the reply.
I began to think that some of what Crabtree had said about the Hall must be true, but that wasn't going to solve my problem of how to get there.
'If I walk,' I said, 'then which way do I go?'
'That's easy,' he said. 'Just follow the road out of the village. That way, it doesn't go nowhere except across the marsh to the Hall.'
He took out a bunch of keys from a hook on the wall and started moving towards the door.
'Got to lock up now. Last train's gone and station's closed 'till seven in the morning.'
He locked the door and we walked together into the road. The taxi still hadn't arrived.
'If you does decide to walk,' he said, turning his collar against the rain, 'then don't try no short cuts. If you gets into trouble in the marsh, there won't be nobody to hear you—nobody what's human, that is!'
I had to get to Marsh Hall before dark. The caretaker had the only set of keys and he left the Hall at sunset. I had about an hour. If I waited too long for the taxi, then I might not have time to walk. I wasn't feeling too happy about spending a night in the Hall, but I certainly didn't want to spend the night outside it!
Did I wait for the taxi, or did I walk from the station?

[pragma]

Walk from the station seems more exciting and reliable. And if I understand Storytrails books then it's unlikely to kill us right away.

[SGamerz]

I like this book, it's actually one of the more challenging ones. Since Storytrail books are short, it's usually not hard to quickly find the successful ending, but this is one book where the good ending was really well-hidden in spite of that.

And yeah, early options tend to carry little-to-no chance of immediate failure, so might as well seek out the potentially spookier option: walk from the station.

[Darth Rabbitt]

I walked slowly away from the station, hoping that the taxi might still appear. It did not appear and once the station buildings were out of sight, I quickened my pace.
The marsh stretched away on both sides of the road as far as the eye could see in the rain and gathering darkness. Pools of black water lay in hollows of blacker mud. Tufts of grass and tall reeds looked grey in the fading light. White branches of long-dead trees reached up from the marsh like skeleton hands. It was a nightmare place.
I remembered the porter's warning about not straying off the road. He need not have warned me. Nothing would have made me leave it!
The suitcase that I carried was not large, but it grew heavier with every step. The cold rain stung my face and, time and again, my foot would plunge ankle deep into one of the puddles of water which covered the rough road. Only the dreadful look of the place and the thought of spending a night in it kept me hurrying on.
The marsh ended after two or three miles and the road now wound its way through tall pine trees. It was just as gloomy, and certainly darker than the marsh, but the trees gave some shelter from the wind and driving rain. My eye caught a sudden flash of light amongst the trees. It could be from the windows of the Hall. It vanished, then appeared again, but in a quite different place. The light was moving through the trees and could be from a torch or lantern. The caretaker knew that I was coming and he might have come out to meet me. I shouted, 'Hallo! Hallo there!' There was no answer.
The wind and rain were making a lot of noise in the trees. Whoever it was might not be able to hear me. I didn't want to miss the caretaker. He might be looking for me. He might be on his way home, or it might not be the caretaker at all.
Marsh Hall must still be half a mile away and it was getting very dark. The porter had said nothing about the wood being dangerous. Did I try to find the owner of the light, or keep walking along the road?

[Queen of Swords]

Keep walking along the road. I'm concerned the light is a will-o'-the-wisp and following it will result in a soggy death.

[pragma]

Definitely keep walking the road. We were specifically warned about this!

[Thaluikhain]

Let's not go wandering off the road at night in the storm into a marsh/forest where nobody knows where we are going. I can't stand people that do that sort of thing.

[SGamerz]

C'mon, the whole point of running a horror-themed LP in Halloween season is to actively hunt for the spooky stuff! Check out the lights!

[Darth Rabbitt]

3-1 in favor of staying on the road:

I seemed to be coming to the end of the trees and now I could hear a sound very like running water. The road took a sharp bend and, just ahead of me, I could see a wooden bridge where the road crossed a stream.
I could see that the bridge was old and in need of some repair. It never crossed my mind to wonder whether or not it was safe.
I had only taken three steps onto the bridge when I heard the crack of timber. I jumped back and clung to the hand rail, just in time to see the plank in front of me disappear and splash into the water below. I kept hold of the hand rail and edged myself back off the bridge.
I knew that I had to get to the other side. I wasn't going to risk the bridge again. I could see the water down below but it was much too dark to see how deep it was. I got out the torch I had brought in my briefcase.
The stream didn't look too bad. I scrambled down the bank and eased myself into the water. It came up to my knees, and it was cold. Being pretty wet already, this didn't seem to matter too much. Having come this far, I wasn't going to turn back now.
As I reached the top of the bank on the far side of the stream, I caught my first glimpse of Marsh Hall. There wasn't enough light left in the sky to make out much more than the dark shape, but I could see that it was big—big and ugly.
Crabtree said that it was built during the time of Henry VIII, but it looked as though all kinds of bits had been added onto it since then. At one corner of the Hall was a tower with a dome on top of it. It certainly wasn't sixteenth century—more probably Victorian.
I was cold, soaked to the skin and it would very soon be dark. It was not the best time to be standing shivering and looking at the house. I was hoping that I would have plenty of time to do that in the daylight.

The main entrance was a stone archway big enough for a carriage and horses. It was closed by two very solid-looking wooden doors, iron studded and with massive hinges. At one side of the archway was an old-fashioned iron bell-pull. I pulled it—several times—and waited. There were still lights in some of the windows and I hoped that meant I had not missed the caretaker.
Minutes later there were footsteps and the sound of a key being turned in a lock. A small door, just big enough to step through, set in one of the larger doors, was opened.
The caretaker was an elderly man, tall and thin, white-haired and walking with a slight limp. As I was the new owner, I thought that he might have tried to look pleased to see me, but he did answer my questions politely enough. He said that he was sorry about the bridge and that he should have told Mr Crabtree. It had never been very good and my uncle had always talked about getting it repaired, but then he had died and the floods of the last winter had just about finished it off.
I told him about seeing lights in the wood.
'Will 'o the Wisps,' he said, 'gas that seeps through from the marsh. Many's the fool that's took one for a lantern and followed it into the marsh.'
He shook his head slowly. He made me feel glad that I hadn't been one of the fools.
By now, we had crossed over a paved courtyard and were entering the house itself. It could have been that I was wet and cold, and glad to be indoors, but my first impression of the place was that it wasn't half as bad as I had expected. Some of the furniture and paintings looked very fine. It was in need of some repair, but a good clean and a lick of paint here and there might have made quite a difference. On first sight, Crabtree's figure of forty thousand pounds sounded to be well short of the mark.
I wondered whether Crabtree's real reason for not wanting me to see the house was because he hoped to get a lot more for it than he was going to tell me.

I was shown into a room off the hall. The caretaker called it 'the morning room.' A log fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth and a simple cold meal had been laid out on a side table. Anything else I needed, I would find in the kitchens.
I was then shown to a bedroom on the first floor where I could change out of my wet clothes and where I could sleep for the night. With a coal fire in the grate and the sheets turned down on a huge fourposter bed, I was going to be warm and comfortable.
The caretaker mumbled some sort of apology about having to leave and it being late already. He said that his cottage was over the hill and away from the marsh. He said nothing about ghosts. Moments later, I heard the hall door close, footsteps across the courtyard, and the opening and closing of the outer gate. I was alone in Marsh Hall.
Having changed into dry clothes, I felt much better and looked forward to doing some exploring in daylight. I went downstairs and enjoyed my meal in front of the fire. I now had my own ideas about why Crabtree did not want me to visit the place and, so far, I hadn't felt anything 'evil'. The only unusual thing that had happened was that the lights kept flickering. Being in the middle of nowhere, the Hall must have its own electric generator. I knew that they were often reliable and I wasn't going to worry about it.
An hour passed. Nothing more had happened but, try as I might, I could not shake off an uneasy feeling. I was sure that it was just the idea of being alone in a big empty house. The morning room had three doors. I kept getting the silly idea that something unpleasant was going to come through one of them at any minute!
I remembered that the bedroom had only one door though, the way I was feeling, I didn't see myself going to sleep very easily. I was glad that I had thought to bring a 'friend' with me—an old army revolver which had belonged to my father.
I was going to have to spend the night somewhere. I really had to decide whether it was going to be here, in the morning room, or upstairs in the bedroom.

[pragma]

Upstairs in the bedroom. I don't know about the logic of these books, but one door vs. three seems like good odds to me.

[Queen of Swords]

Agreed. Go to the bedroom.

[SGamerz]

Sure, bedroom. Let's follow the horror movie trope of the victim locking/barricading himself in the room only to find out that the ghost/monster/predator/serial killer is already in the room and blocking off his only escape route.

[Darth Rabbitt]

When I got to my bedroom I didn't feel like going to bed and decided to sit for a while in a chair beside the fire. I must have dozed off. When I woke, the fire had died right down and the room was very cold. I put more coal onto the fire and stood near to it, hoping that it would soon blaze up again.
There was a light sound, like the jangling of metal. I looked round to see what it was. The curtains around the fourposter bed were moving, as if someone were drawing them together!
By the time I had reached the bed, they were closed. I pulled back the two curtains on the side of the bed nearest to me, only to find that the moment I let them go, they started moving together again.
I could still hear the jangling sound. I looked up at the wood canopy which covered the bed. I could see the brass rings which held the curtains on the curtain poles around the bed. They were dancing about on the poles as if someone were shaking them.
Suddenly, they stopped. There was a loud crack, like a pistol shot. I had brought my revolver to the bedroom with me. I ran to fetch it from the dressing table. As I picked it up, I saw the reason for the sound. The mirror of the dressing table had cracked, the cracks spreading in all directions from the centre—as if someone had given it a mighty blow!
I mobbed to the centre of the room with the gun in my hand and watched the door, thinking that something might come through it!
Nothing came. Once, I thought that I could hear banging, like a door swinging in the wind in some distant part of the house, but I couldn't be sure. I went over to the bedroom door and opened it. Outside, in the corridor, everything looked perfectly normal, yet there was a feeling somewhere inside me telling me that whatever it was, it hadn't finished yet! The revolver was still in my hand. Did I stay there and wait for 'it' to come to me, or did I go hunting for ghosts?

[pragma]

I vote Go hunting.

While 'waiting for it ' might seem strategically sound, I don't know if we're going to figure out that it's just old man Jenkins by staying holed up all night.

[Thaluikhain]

Hunting

[Queen of Swords]

Agreed, let's not passively wait.

[Darth Rabbitt]

I collected my torch and stuffed it into a pocket. The gun, I kept in my hand. I had hardly started my search when the lights, which had been burning steadily, began to flicker again. The flickering got worse and they began to go dim. They went out!
I was glad that I had brought the torch. I tried to pull it from my pocket, but it was stuck. I pulled harder—too hard! The torch came out of my pocket and shot out of my hand. I heard it fall to the floor. I got down onto my hands and knees and began to feel about. I knew that it could have rolled away.
I hadn't found it. My hands were beginning to sweat and I could feel the hair prickling on the back of my neck. I straightened myself up. I had the feeling that I was being watched—that something was watching me, something out there in the darkness!
I could see nothing. I listened. The house was full of sounds, the wind and the rain, the creaking of old timber, the kind of regular squeaking that comes from the turning of a rusty wheel. Somewhere, I could hear a tap running.
I had to find that torch! I started again, crawling around in a wider circle. Just as my fingers closed around it, the lights came on again. I tried the torch. Luckily it was not broken.
With the lights back on, the place wasn't half so frightening. The feeling of being watched had gone, though I could still hear the noises that I had heard in the darkness.
I was standing near to the top of the staircase. The squeaking sound was coming from somewhere down the corridor that led to my bedroom. The running tap must be in the kitchens. It was so loud that I thought it was strange that I hadn't heard it before.
If I was going to do some searching, then I could try finding out what was squeaking, or I could find the running tap and turn it off. The caretaker had told me where to find the kitchens.
I didn't have time to do either. I could try to forget about the noises and go back to the morning room.

[Queen of Swords]

Squeak!

[SGamerz]

Go turn off that tap. We're inheriting the house (and possibly leaving in it), we should ensure the place doesn't get flooded or the kitchen furniture ruined.

[pragma]

Turn off the tap. Water damage is no joke.

[Darth Rabbitt]

The kitchens were easy to find. There was one large room with several smaller ones leading off it, though none of them looked to be used. I had been right about the sound. A tap was running into a large earthenware sink which was about half full of water. I turned it off. But I could see that if it had been running since the caretaker had left, the sink would have overflowed long ago.
I had once stayed in an old house where the plumbing did funny things. Sometimes, no water would come out of a tap when it was turned on, then a long time later it would start to run. That was what I wanted to believe had happened now. What happened next was not so easy to explain.
On the wall at the other side of the kitchen was a set of old fashioned bells, the kind used before the days of electricity. Each bell was hung on a spiral spring and each was connected by a wire to a different room in the house. When the wire was pulled in one of the rooms, the bell would ring and, because of the spring, would go on ringing for some time. They were used to summon servants, in the days when houses had servants.
One of the bells was ringing! I went to take a closer look. It couldn't be a draught—all the other bells were quite still. I shone my torch closer to the wooden board on which they were fixed. Beneath the one which was ringing, I could make out the word 'Library.'
I did know where the library was—next to the morning room. If somebody was playing tricks on me, then this might be the moment to catch them. I had only to go back the way I had come to be there in seconds.
That could, of course, be exactly what they wanted me to do. It would give them time to get away, but there was another way back, I thought. As I had come into the kitchens, I had noticed a narrow staircase, one which would have been used by the servants. I was sure that it must be possible to get to the next floor and then make my way back past my bedroom to the top of the main staircase and the hall. That way, surprise might be on my side.

[Thaluikhain]

Go the other way for surprise and/or being lost.

[Queen of Swords]

Yes, go the other way and see if we can surprise them.

[pragma]

Retracing steps is for fools. Go the other way.

[SGamerz]

Take the servants' staircase.