Ghost House

Crazy Charlie had always seemed a little eccentric, but today he was bona fide crazy, wild-eyed and babbling about the old Greymoor house out on the edge of town. At first you ignored him; you had never put much stock in the legend and the spook tales it generated - although the place did provide great material for campfire storytelling and Halloween forays. And, in addition, you pride yourself on being realistic to the extreme. Everyone knew about the Greymoors and the "family curse" that supposedly killed off every last one of them. But you didn't put much stock in it.

Crazy Charlie may have noticed your apathy, but apparently he had something to get off his chest. Like it or not, you would have to hear him out. Nearly one hundred years ago to the day, a Creole woman who was said to practice voodoo traveled through town on her way north to Augusta. She never made it. A team of horses driven by one of the wilder Greymoor scions accidentally ran her down. It was said that in her dying breath she gasped out this phrase:

"From this day forward shall come no good; each Greymoor born will die of wood."

The townspeople (and the Greymoors) were alarmed at first, and then forgot about it until the Greymoor son who had killed the woman was found impaled on an oak branch four years later. From that time on, like clockwork, a Greymoor was found dead every 10 years - each death in some way related to wood. After eight such deaths, there were no more Greymoors. The last was 20 years ago, when Jeremy Christopher was crushed by a tree that was felled by a bolt of lightning.

At the reading of the will it was discovered that the Greymoors had stashed away seven priceless items, which were never found. The inevitable treasure hunters were said to return suffering from hallucinations, and they never went back. People who passed near the place at night claimed to hear ghostly wails and see shimmery specters. But that is all old news.

From your studies in psychology, you have drawn your own conclusions. Crazy Charlie, sensing he might make a rapt audience of you yet, followed you and kept right on with his fevered monologue. "See, Ellory, sometimes when the wife won't let me in I sleep it off at the old Greymoor place. After I've had a few I don't hear nothing," he said, laughing strangely. "But last night I did hear something. I could swear I heard something"

"You heard whiskey talking, Charlie, or maybe it was your own snoring," you said, quickening your pace. Charlie kept up.

"You think you're the town psychiatrist now, huh? You college boys think you're so smart."

"OK, Charlie," you sighed, "what did you hear?"

"You're not gonna believe this, but I heard an elephant trumpeting, then I got this image of an elephant in a graveyard. Can you believe that?"

"Oh, yes."

"You're laughing at me, Ellory. I'm not going to tell you what happened next! I'm not going to tell you about the tomb-" Charlie suddenly broke off. A look of terror crossed his face a look that even sent a chill up your spine. Then Charlie turned and fled in the other direction, a stoppered, half-empty pint of whiskey falling out of his pocket.

Standing there in the middle of the road, you came to a decision. As a student of psychology, you decided to find out what it is about the Greymoor legend that was so potent that it frightened both the town drunk and the average citizen - present company (that's you) excluded. It might make an interesting research topic for your abnormal psych class. And, if there were something to all those stories of treasure, maybe it could help pay off some student loans. At the road's next fork you veered off toward the Greymoor's, looking for a little adventure.

Ghost House is a text Adventure that requires 16K and Color BASIC - Extended BASIC is not required. The object of the game is to find and store seven treasures.