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I Am NOT A Vampire!

Prologue (Erenthal)

There’s a very common misconception that most people have about mansions, especially about the
kind of mansions you unexpectedly inherit from an eccentric uncle. Most people simply assume that
once that happens, you’ve got it made. They think it’s all plush velvet chairs, hosting lavish parties
and reading dusty books in front of a roaring fireplace. What they never consider, and no one ever
bothers to tell you about, is the work involved. As another spurt of ice cold water hits you in the face,
you curse the ancient leather faced vulture of a lawyer that arranged the whole thing. ‘State of the
art running water system’, he had said. ‘State of the art in 1870’ is more like it, you think, hunched
down with your head under the sink, watching the leaking pipe rapidly, and worryingly, vibrate.

“Igor!” you call out. “’I’ve got a job for you! Igor? Igo – oooowch!” you trail off, as you pull your head
out from beneath the sink just a bit too fast and smack it into the wooden paneling. Rubbing your
throbbing head, you hear the familiar, semi-shuffling footsteps of your butler approaching.

“Yeth thur?” he says, an expectant look in his rheumy eyes. Sometimes, he reminds you very much of
a dog. A hideously malformed, humpbacked dog, but still. You’ve always liked dogs, it’s just too bad
that most don’t seem to like you for some reason.

“Remind me Igor,” you sigh, “Why is it that I spend two hundred pounds a month on that speech
therapist for you, and yet you’ve not only failed to improve, but, quite remarkably, you’ve actually
gotten worse?”

He looks at you with seeming incomprehension. “Thur?”

“Oh, never mind. Where were you?”

“There theems to be an angry mob outthide, waiting to thee you thur.”

“Have they got an appointment?”

“No thur. It’th all very inconthiderate, if you athk me,” Igor says, shaking his head. There’s a tingling
sensation at the base of your spine, but you can’t quite place it. Quickly wiping your face with a
monogrammed towel (with V.T printed in golden thread), you head into the torch-lit (it costs a little
extra, but it does wonders for the milieu) main hall of the mansion. By now you can sort of make out
angry voices, muffled through the thick oak of the main doors. Deciding that it’s better to be safe
than sorry you head up the grand staircase, up to the balcony doors above the entrance.

Turn to page 250.


Page 250 (Erenthal)

Outside, the mob is waiting. From your rather limited experience with these sort of things, you can’t
tell if it’s a normal-sized mob or not, but you have to admit, with some apprehension, that there are
a whole lot of people down there. You have no problem believing that the whole damn village has
gathered on your lawn. As soon as they see you, they all start clamoring at once. “There’s the
vampire! He took my goat!” one of them shouts, clutching a frayed rope.

“He took my cow!” a decrepit old woman cries, tears streaming down her face

“He savaged my daughter!” a fat man with a soiled butchers apron exclaims, a blonde buxom young
woman under his arm. She smiles at you, giggling.

“I am not a – “ you start, only to be shouted down. “Seriously, I know it can look – “ A eerie silence
suddely falls over the scene, as two men move through the crowd from the back. The mob parts,
letting them pass. As they get closer you notice that the newcomers seem to be wearing some sort of
battle gear, complete with oversized shoulder pads and (quite terrifyingly) large crossbows. Both are
also absolutely bedecked with miscellaneous small items, such as crucifixes, various bottles and
scrolls. The whole effect would actually be rather imposing, if not for the fact that both men also
have the most ridiculous little goatees you have ever seen.

“Gentlemen!” you cry out in vain hope, “You seem like reasonable, rational people! The good citizens
here seem to be laboring under the mistaken belief that I am some sort of mythical monster, a – “

“Silence, fiend!” the senior of the two men exclaims. “My name is Charles Beaumont the Third,
knight of the holy orders and professional monster slayer. Heed the name well, abomination, for it is
the last one you will ever hear as you face thy end!” he finishes; striking a pose that you suppose is
intended to be quite heroic.

“And I’m Tad Beau – “ the second man begins, only to be silenced by a slap to the back of his head by
his brother. Grasping at straws, you throw your arms up. “Look, whatever has happened, I’m sure
there’s a reasonable explanation for it, if we just take the time to – “

At every event attended by a mob, there’s a moment where the outcome hangs in a fine and invisible
balance. Tilt too much to one side, and the mob will dissolve into grumbling malcontents that will
return home to rethink things. Too much to the other side, and someone ends up dangling from a
tree. At this precise moment of carefully balanced equilibrium, Igor shows up next to you on the
balcony.

A terrified scream goes up from the assembled villagers. “He sends his ghoulish minions at us! Stand
fast!” someone yells.

“Look,” another quickly adds, “He’s covered in the blood of innocents!”


"Won't somebody stop this monstrosity?!" a thin waifish woman wails.

Feeling fate, life and hope slipping from between your fingers like so much sand, you turn around,
even though you already know what you will find. Igor has the same subservient and empty look on
his face as always. It’s also, very visibly, covered with blood. Seeing the unspoken question on your
face, he shrugs. “Nothebleed, thur. It’th the dry air.”

Fate slams down on the scale with the force of a five ton whale. You want to say something, but you
can only manage a strangled mockery of human language. “Ffffffuck,” you choke out. With dual
'twang', two crossbows fire in unison. Luckily, their aim is slightly off, and two shivering bolts embed
themselves in the doorframe. You wisely decide to hightail it out of there, before they reload.
Grabbing Igor by the scruff of his unwashed neck, you forcefully drag him inside. Slamming shut the
door, you race down the carpeted stairs.

“What do the hell do we do now?!” you ask no one in particular, breath ragged in your throat. Like
most normal people, you’ve never actually prepared any escape plans from your house, an oversight
that at this particular moment is quite aggravating. A massive impact rocks the entrance doors,
causing dust to fall from the shelves lining the room.

“I think they’ve got a battering ram, thur.” Igor helpfully explains. A second later, there’s the sound of
glass splintering upstairs. From the west wing, a faint orange glow begins to grow.

“Shit, shit! My famous collection of stuffed bats!” you cry, as the first wafts of smoke begins to assail
your nose, a mixture of burning formaldehyde and singed carpet. Then Igor tugs on your sleeve. “I’ll
hold here, thur. You have to get out,” he says. In his tiny piggish eyes, you see something you don’t
think you’ve ever seen before. Determination. Bracing his misshapen back against the doors, he digs
his feet into the carpet. “Don’t worry about me thur,” he adds. You nod gravely, and then start
backing away towards the rear of the house. Not really knowing why, you also grab your favorite
ivory-handled cane from its stand near the door. The head is shaped like a caped bat, a choice that at
this point seems rather ironic.

You pause in the rear dining hall. The rhythmic pounding of the battering ram still reverberates
through the whole building, but it’s a lot quieter here. Then, with a shower of glass, a man stumbles
through one of the panoramic windows. It’s one of the villagers, and he’s clutching a rather crude
looking club as he shambles towards you. He’s obviously roaring drunk, but you can’t tell if it’s on
mob justice or that awful plum wine they brew down in the village. Seriously, that thing could be
used as pipe cleaner. Swinging at you, the drunk grunts something unintelligible. Deftly sidestepping
his clumsy blow, you crack him on the bald spot with your cane, causing him to tumble to the ground
in a faintly sour-smelling heap. “Think, think, think!” you mutter. “There’s got to be some way out of
here!”

The first thing that comes to mind it that you suppose you could put on the unconscious villagers
clothes and try to sneak out the broken window, making for the family cemetery just down the hill.
There, you could probably hide in one of the grotesquely oversized mausoleums that your family
seems to be so very fond off. However, there’s no telling if the man you just knocked out was alone
or if more of them had the same bright idea to go round the house.

Thinking further, you suddenly remember that your uncle had an escape tunnel built. The entrance
should be in the fireplace one room over, and the exit should be somewhere close to the abandoned
windmill. Though there is the issue of the badger infestation that your uncle never quite managed to
clear out.

Or, and as the thought forms in your head you realize that you’re getting really bloody desperate,
there is the matter of that giant kite in the attic… but by now the fire might have reached it.

DO YOU:

Sneak out the window in disguise? Turn to page 45.

Try the possibly infested tunnel? Turn to page 160.

Head for the attic and its dubious means of escape? Turn to page 99.

Page 99 (JGBeagle)

Having a grave fear of badgers, as well as a sensitive nose (that villager reeks), you figure the best
way out is up, up and away. Fleeing up the stairs to the attic, the smoke billows around you, blocking
your way to the attic door. Not wanting to suffocate, you cover your face with your cape and
continue to inch forward, reaching the door in no time. You swing open the door and make your way
up the stairs, careful not to trip. Once you are inside, you knock over a couple of old cabinets,
blocking the progress of anyone else who dares to follow you. You flip the light switch and don’t
need to look that hard because you spot the kite instantly by its red and black coloring, as well as a
few barrels of gunpowder, why your uncle needed that, you’ll never now. You rush over to the kite,
noting the heat rising in the room. Knowing that you’re running out of time before the attic goes up
in flames you grab the kite by the handle and make a run for the window and dive through it. The
crowd looks up in awe as you soar out as flames spew out the attic. As you look at the angry mob you
spot the two Beaumonts as one of them readies his crossbow. Your reflexes aren’t quick enough to
dodge the incoming projectile and the arrow pierces the kite. You spin out of control and you find
yourself about to hit a tree. The kite (and you) slams into the tree.

“Good grief,” you mutter as fall to the ground. You stand back up and assess the damage. The kite is
in no condition to fly and has somehow tangled itself up within the branches; there's no way you can
take it with you in time. You look back at the castle; it’s in flames at this point and the mob appears
to be coming your way. You look to your left and see nothing but trees. It might be your best bet as
the villagers fear the woods on the high number of wolves living in there (though they believe them
to be werewolves). You also notice an opening to the old sewer system, you could dive down there
and perhaps escape that way (if you survive the smell that is). Or maybe you could go down the
nearby road to your crazy old friend, the one who used to be a doctor of some sort.

DO YOU:

Flee into the forest? Turn to page 86.

Dive into the sewers? Turn to page 75.

Head to your friend’s place? Turn to page 309.

Page 309 (Hbomberguy)

You decide that visiting your doctor friend will be far more helpful than a forest full of wolves, and far
more pleasing in odour than the sewer. It is not until you've creeped through the deserted cobble
streets and knocked on his front door that you realise you were wrong on the second count. You try
not to sputter too loudly for fear of drawing attention to yourself, but you almost vomit. No time to
turn back now, though, because you already knocked - and many childhood summers spent in Uncle
Vlad's keeping have taught you that politeness is the highest skill any man can hope to attain.

The door slowly creaks open, and a bushy white head of hair you could lose a comb in pokes around
the crack in the doorway to observe you. The man's eyes recognise your cape and cane, and the door
is flung open.
"My friend!" He cries, "It's been too long! Are you coming in?"
"I'd better," you reply, "Before anyone sees. There's an angry mob-"
"Oh, I KNEW this would happen!" Interrupts the ex-Doctor, suddenly very frenzied in his outlook. "I
KNEW I should have never turned that abomination loose upon the outside world!" There is an
awkward silence as you wonder what the devil he means, and as he realises you do not know what
he is talking about.
"Oh dear. They're after you, aren't they?" He asks. You nod. In response, your old friend Victor
Frankenstein orders you into his home, promising to put the kettle on and explain everything.

Later, feeling a little better to be having tea with an old friend, you listen to Victor's tale.
Which begins unrelentingly the instant you sit down.
"When I gave him life, I thought I had become a modern Prometheus and brought light to where
there was none. To think, I have brought a new being into existence from utterly nothing! But very
soon after, the problems began..."
He trails off and stops for a moment. You try to ask him what this has to do with your own problems,
but when you open your mouth to speak he starts again.
"He was hideous. Of course, I could stand him, knowing what a miracle he was. But my clients - well,
whenever they saw him they would scream, and weep, and threaten to inform the world-famous
Bueamonts that a beast in human form is terrorising their village. From then, I tried to keep him
hidden from the world. Then the second problem started - he eats enough for eight men! Though I
see the irony, since that's what I made him from, I was out of money within the month. I had nothing
to feed either of us."
"That really is terrible, but I need your help with-" You try to butt in, but you are ignored.
"I tried to put him to work in some well-paying job with little nearby competition. For a while I
believe he worked as a speech therapist. God help whoever hired him. I've heard rumours are going
around lately that he's been stealing whole animals in the night, cutting out the middle man in his
quest for nutrition. It's no wonder the Bueamonts have finally come."

"But they went after me." You query, spilling your drink on a little paper napkin. In trying to mop it
up, you can't help but notice the Doctor has scribbled some notes on it. In large, lipstick-pink script,
Victor has outlined a series of methods for befriending werewolves. You wonder if the woods really
do house such mythical creatures, and thank your stars you didn't try your luck there. You also
wonder if your friend's mental state has finally passed the point of no return.
"Hm. That's certainly a predicament you've got there. I assume our friendly neighberhood
whistleblowers never told them whom to go hunting for, so perhaps the hunter's own search led
them to you. I mean, let's be frank - you are a bit like a vampire."

"So you're saying this is all YOUR fault?!" You holler with a rage you didn't know you had. Your skin
crawls to think that your old friend would allow this to happen to you. For a man smart enough to
create life from nothing, he's certainly not too bright when it comes to not ruining his friend's lives.
This is a clear-cut case of mistaken identity! There MUST be a way I can clear my name!" You
demand.
"Well, if the Beaumonts are anything close to the hunters I've met before, they'll be stubborn
bastards who won't listen to anything but absolute proof. The body of my monster might just about
do it, perhaps. They really need to think up a better system of testing for innocence, but then again
hunters have always been notoriously bad bureacrats." Victor sips his tea and scrawls something on
the pad at his lap. You ask him worriedly if it's about werewolves.
"Oh, yes. They are my special friends, you see. Sometimes we eat rabbits out in the forest and they
tell me about the siege engines they've built and their supreme plan to overthrow humanity."

DO YOU:

Decide to go searching for Victor's monster and attempt to clear your name? (Page 16)

Put the madman out of his misery? (Page 52)

Realise defecting to the werewolves is the only way to move forward? (Page 357)

Page 357 (big duck equals goose)

"Victor, tell me about the werewolves." you reply meekly while tapping a coffee cup onto metallic
gothic looking table set between you two.
"Oh, yes! The Werewolves! Amazing people really, they seem to be covered in fur and enjoy nothing
more then building these amazing contraptions and marvelous mechanical objects! Wonders of
science, really. You would be amazed at what they can do! By the heavens, I saw one shoot fire
straight out of a cannon! It was amazing friend!" Victors eyes the whole time are as a big as dinner
plates.

"Are they good mannered people? Because, as a child, I always heard that Werewolves were these
malicious, terrible, and vile creatures that took children and helpless women into the night to eat."
With those words, you see Victor look surprised at your statement.

"Oh! No! Werewolves are actually quite a clean and prosperous people. Would you like to see one?"
Victor asks with a slight hint of a braggart.

"Do you think it can help with my problem? I would assume because the stereotypes placed on
werewolves nonstop that they might know what actually causes all these problems the villagers are
having."

"Oh, yes, of course. They are a wise and noble animal. Come, I keep one chained in my basement."
When Victor said this, you felt a cold chill. A chained werewolf? Would it be friendly? What does a
werewolf even look like? Removing his small floor rug, Victor shows you a small hiding latch which
leads to the basement. Following him down in a torch lite tunnel walk-way, you finally get to the end
of a hall and enter a room via a large wooden door.

The room is pretty small in size. There is a couple of book cases, a desk, a table with various surgical
tools on it, and a cage in the corner with a sheet covering it. On another side of the room there is a
small table with various nick-nacks and the like on it.

"Careful now, even despite being an amazing animal, I still don't know much about him. He could be
ferocious, so don't stick your hand in the cage or anything. I keep this blanket over the cage so he can
sleep. Behold!" Victor removes the sheet like a magician removing a cloth. Inside the cage, you
believe you don't see a werewolf, but instead an small naked man shaking in the cage.

"Uh... is that him? He doesn't look like a werewolf." You say stunned.

"Well, he's just not transformed. Come on you, transform for my friend here." Victor snaps wile
kicking the cage.

"I'm not a werewolf! For the last time, I'm Chinese!" You hear the man screech. From the sound of
his cries, it sounds like he hasn't had food for days. Inside the cage, it looks like he has been
somewhat abused. His hair shaggy and the smell coming from the cage is dreadful. You feel
immediate sympathy for him.

"Oh nonsense. Everyone knows you are a Werewolf. Now, listen Fenrir-"
"My name is Alex Lin!"
"Fenrir, please. The name is just for my study. It's because you are a magnificent beast. I thought
today we could talk about your wonderful inventions."

You can't believe your eyes. This is a werewolf? It looks nothing like what you suspect a werewolf to
be. Hearing the conversation between the two, you believe Victor has lost his mind.

"What do you claim this contraption is again, Fenrir?" Victor softly speaks, walking over to a table a
pulling up something from the table.

"That's a tooth brush. Please! Let me go!"

"Tooth-Bruussh? Huh. How do you make it shoot the fireballs like I caught you doing on the road."
Victor asks while twirling it in his hands.

"That was a firework. They are not used for the same thing. Please, let me go." You can hear the man
softly weeping.

"Oh, he's fine. Don't worry about him. I feed him what werewolves require and he should be let back
out to his people here soon. As you can see, he is marvelous. Oh, but I take your time. Fenrir! My
friend has to ask you a question of which you could help him with. Go on, while he is up. Don't be
scared." Victor nudges you gently towards the cage. With all the insanity, you manage to bumble out
your story and the problems you face. Alex looks up to you from the cage listening behind watery
eyes the whole time.

"Please, help me escape! I know the Beaumonts, I am over here to deliver some words for them. Our
families have been friends for years, please let me go and we can both talk to them together and
straight this!" He cries. Victor just laughs and continues to twiddle the toothbrush in his hands.

"Oh, don't mind him. He's just fussy because he hasn't ate yet today. Don't worry, I'll feed him soon.
I'm sure his friends miss him and all, but you know, science."
Victor obviously has gone mad, but at the same time you get the feeling that Alex could be lying.
What if he is really a werewolf? I mean, it's possible, right? Still, if he was friends with the
Beaumount, that could be handy.

DO YOU:

Attempt to free Alex? (Page 11)

Go back to town and find the Beaumonts so you can tell them about the situation? (Page 38)

Tell Alex you know he is a werewolf and demand you get the truth from him? (Page 311)
Page 11 (Daeren)

You turn to Victor with a scowl. "Now see here! This man is perfectly normal and I can prove it to
you!" You look around the room, and spot Victor's pet cat, Igor, napping atop a large shelf full of
skulls and fluids that you can't recognize. You call for him, and he opens his one good eye lazily,
flicking an ear dismissively. Damn cats.

Carefully, you approach the shelf as his eye remains fixed upon you. You slowly climb up the cabinet,
the bottles of liquid shaking as you pray that your diet worked. Victor opens his mouth to object, but
you're able to deftly grab Igor in one arm and leap down before any damage is done. Igor hangs
limply from your grasp like a wet dishrag, his twisted spine like a camel's hump. Life as the surrogate
guinea pig of a mad scientist is not a pleasant one, it seems. A low growl comes from his throat.

Gently, so as not to agitate the mangy curmudgeon, you carry Igor over to Alex's cage and dangle him
in front of it. Igor simply stares blankly at Alex, who is looking more confused than terrified at this
point. Triumphantly, you turn to Victor.

"See? If he was really a werewolf, he would instinctively try to chase Igor due to his canine genes and
ravenous hungers! Since neither reacted, he is obviously not a werewolf."

You desperately hope your pseudo-scientific explanation works as Victor looks back and forth
between Igor and Alex.

"Well...I can't really argue with that logic," Victor says after a moment. "But how do you explain the
slow but steady growth of hair as we approach the full moon?"

"You haven't let me shave in a week!" Alex pleads desperately. Victor ignores him as you search for
an answer.

"Who knows what inscrutable functions the body of a Chinaman has?" you say glibly, trying to
redirect his train of thought. "Clearly this a case of mistaken identity. You say homo lupus, I say homo
mongoliensis." Victor's expression turns to one of sorrow

"You mean I've been experimenting an Oriental this whole time, and not a werewolf?" he moans.
Alex nods vigorously, ignoring the blatant racism in favor of trying to get the hell out of his cage.

"Well, that changes things then! I've already done enough studies on the bodies of the common
Asiatic! Though from the results I've gotten from Fenris here, I may have to change my notes." Victor
walks over to the cage and unlocks it with a massive ring of keys, opening the door. "Dreadfully sorry,
old boy, but you have done a magnificent service to science."

Alex scrambles out of the cage, throwing himself at your feet and wrapping his arms around you in a
stinky embrace. "Thank you!" he cries. "Thank you!!"
You shuffle your feet as best you can with a sobbing naked man coiled around them. The awkward
silence is broken by Igor retching and hacking up a hairball. Victor coos happily and goes over to
inspect the wet, dripping ball of hair and rodent bones. You wisely take your chance and lead Alex
out of Victor's home after stea-err, borrowing some extra robes for Alex.

"You are a true friend," Alex says to you as you walk down the path. "That madman captured me
when my wagon broke down. He was certain I was a werewolf, of all things, just because I had some
wolves trying to scavenge the meat from my wagon! I think it should still be there. I hate to ask my
savior for another favor, but I am hardly fit enough to travel the woods alone tonight, and I need to
recover my wagon. Would you help me find it? I could share my supplies with you."

If you want to help Alex look for his wagon, turn to page 59. If you have already located Alex's wagon
on your journey, skip to page 89 instead.

If you want to ask Alex to help you with your predicament, turn to page 91.

If you want to leave Alex to fend for himself, turn to page 66.

Page 59 (Feinne)

You’re pretty sure those villagers aren’t going to listen to anything you have to say without some kind
of ironclad proof that you’re not a vampire, so you really might as well just help out Alex.

“Okay, Alex, which way is your wagon?”

Alex looks excited that you’re willing to help him out, and suggests he had to abandon it about a mile
north near the rather melodramatically named Dark Wolf Forest. You mentally note it was probably a
bad idea to take a cart full of meat through a forest known for being dark and full of wolves but don’t
mention it to Alex so as to not upset the only sane person not trying to kill you in the region.

Fortunately, it seems the superstitious villagers are just as afraid of the ‘werewolves’ that are
supposed to live in the forest as they were of you, because you reach the overturned cart without
incident. Unfortunately, the wolves seem to have done in the donkey Alex had used to pull it and
consumed the meat he was carrying.

Trying to console Alex, you tell him, “Well, it’s not all bad. I mean you’re still alive, right?”

Before he can respond, though, it seems as though that statement might have been premature. A
howl pierces your ears, and several pairs of eyes shine out of the moonlit darkness of the forest.
What will you do?

If you root around in the wagon for something to save you both, turn to page 106
If you grab Alex and run down the road, turn to page 31

If you push Alex down and run off alone, turn to page 153

Page 153 (TimothyDallas)

Fear sets in, and you doubt Alex’s meat wagon has anything of use a pack of ravenous wolves won’t
have already devoured. Running seems like the only option, and you worry Alex might just slow you
down. A quick glance towards Alex, his scared eyes beginning to well with tears, makes up your mind.
You’ve saved his life, it’s high time he returned the favour.

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” you lie.

He looks at you, confusion now etching itself on his face. “About my cart?” he asks. A pang of guilt
flashes over you, throwing this poor innocent person to save your own skin, and you wish you could
save him. This is quickly overcome by a much stronger desire to survive.

You shoulder barge Alex towards the glowing eyes, sending him crashing to the ground (“Oh, that’s
what you’re sorry about!”). You turn back the way you came and run like the wind. You realise Alex
has probably had a tough enough day already, but you have more important things to worry about,
and assure yourself his admittedly unwilling, rather forced sacrifice shall not be in vain.

You run. And run. And run. Dodging over rocks, darting through trees, hurdling fallen logs. Your cape
catches and snags and tears as you run, You can’t hear anything chasing you, but you think you see
danger everywhere. Was that a wolf running past you? Is there another one behind that tree?
There’s more hiding in the bushes aren’t there? You even think you see some sort of hulking giant
lifting a tree at one point, but you’re sure that must be your imagination.

Finally, you emerge from the woods, almost running cartoon-style straight off the cliffs at the edge.
You look down and see the village, and the smouldering wreck of your wreck of a mansion. The mob
of idiot villagers are simply standing around, looking a little bored and slightly impatient, clearly with
nothing else to do with after blaming you for the incidents in the village and their wanton property
damage. You resolve to start on figuring out just what is going on, just as soon as you can do so
without the crowd hammering stakes through you. A little away from the crowd you see the two
Beaumont brothers, probably planning some other way to make your evening that bit more trying.
Alex crosses your mind. Perhaps sacrificing the one person who knew them and could possibly help
you wasn’t such a good idea after all.

A howl comes from behind. The wolves! How did you forget? Cursing the fact that everyone and
everything is still trying to kill you, and while you’re homeless no less, you look for possible escapes.
Back into the forest would be the worst idea you’ve had all night, but you still have your trusty cane
in hand, you could probably fight off the wolves, and it’s away from the Beaumonts. You start
thinking if there might be something you could salvage from the ruins of your house, if only you
could get past the mob. There has to be something your uncle stashed in there, anything that might
have survived the fire. You have a furtive glance down the cliff as well, and spy a cave about halfway
down. Dangerous climb down, yes, but a good hiding spot, provided nothing else murderous is there
already.

Another howl. Better make up your mind, and fast...

If you decide to turn back into the forest, turn to page 52.

If you decide to chance the mob and return to the mansion, turn to page 255.

If you decide to hide in the cliffside cave, turn to page 117.

Page 52 (Erenthal)

Standing there on the precarious cliffside, listening to the wolves closing in, your slumbering
conscience suddenly kicks in with the force of a sledgehammer to the head. Damn it. You’re not a
monster, no matter what those superstitious villagers and those crazy Beaumont brothers claim. If
there’s a chance that Alex is still alive, you’re going to find and help him. You take a firm grip of the
cane and turn around, marching back into the woods with your newly discovered moral imperative
ringing in your mind like a church bell.

Later, you realize that while high minded moral purposes are good at many things, they suck at
helping you navigate pitch black woods. After stumbling and groping blindly through the
undergrowth for what seems like an eternity, your heart jumping into your throat every time there’s
a rustle nearby, you finally concede that you are completely and hopelessly lost. There’s no sign of
the road, the wagon or of Alex.

Just as you’re on the verge of panic you collide with something hard, a sharp pain shooting through
your legs. As you glance down, you are astonished to discover a rusty iron fence sticking up from the
moss and rocks. It’s been long since overgrown with weeds and thistles, but the edges are still quite
sharp, as you’ve just discovered. Dislodging your pants legs from the ironwork, you curse as
inventively as the situation allows. Thoughts race through your head at blinding speed. Why do
fences have to be so pointy? Do wolves enjoy iron supplements to their meals? And who the hell
builds a fence out in the middle of the goddamn forest? The final question, at least, is rapidly
answered when you spot the distinctive square shape of a small cabin beyond the fence. Cautiously
moving closer, you see that, while dilapidated and in poor shape, the cabin is mostly intact and
seems solid enough. Maybe Alex found it and took shelter inside?
Do you have an old lantern and wish to use it? If so, turn to page 64.

If not, go to page 244.

Page 244 (Erenthal)

The door, though stubborn at first, yields to a few solid blows from your shoulder.

“Alex?” you whisper as loud as you dare. “Alex, you in here? Look, I’m sorry about what happened
before,” you continue, suddenly feeling really stupid. When you’ve just thrown a guy to a pack of
rabid wolves, sorry doesn’t quite cut it, does it? You call out again, only to be answered by compact
silence. Venturing deeper inside, things get weirder and weirder. Scores of animal skulls of various
species and sizes line the wall, along with other more esoteric items. Along the one of the walls
someone has lined up several large wooden barrels, all painted a deep blue. Cracking the lid on one,
you reel back as a caustic smell wafts up from the contents. You carefully dip a fingertip in it.
Naphtha? You’re suddenly very glad you didn’t bring a torch or lantern, or this whole place would
probably have turned into one huge bonfire.

Looking around some more, you recover a small chest, hidden in plain sight under the fireplace. If it
had a lock once, it’s long broken, and it opens without resistance. Underneath a small piece of velvet
cloth is a leather bound book. Straining your eyes in the poor light you can barely make out the
writing on the cover, the ink having nearly been bleached out by exposure and wear. V….’s diary? “V”
for Victor? In your excitement over this discovery you drop the chest, and it clatters to the floor,
spilling its remaining contents. This, to your horror, includes several pairs of human teeth and a
bloody, very brutal looking knife. At the same time, you hear something moving behind you.

Spinning around like some middle-eastern dervish, cane in hand, you at first see nothing but a pair of
glowing eyes and massive glinting fangs. Then the moon returns from behind the clouds, revealing
the whole scene. In front of you, and looking as surprised as you probably do, is a prime example of
melus melus, or the common badger. Relaxing, you lower the cane.

“Hey there, big fella,” you say. The badger chirps. Chirps? Are badgers supposed to chirp? Hell if you
know, you aren’t some sort of badgerologist, after all.

“You gave me quite a scare, you know?” you say, sitting down. Feeling around in your pockets, you’re
delighted to discover that you’re still carrying around a biscuit from earlier today. You break of a
piece and toss it to the animal, who responds with a happy chirp.

“Do you have a name? If not, I’m going to call you Vlad, after my uncle. You kinda look like him, what
with the overgrown teeth and all. I always told him he should see a dentist.”
Suddenly your world goes dark, as a pair of strong wiry hands wraps themselves around your face.
The smell of blood and fur fills your nostrils, along with… gunpowder?

“Got you now, you son of a bitch!” Alex howls as he clings to your back with all his might. “Leave me
to the wolves eh!?” he shrieks, kicking you full force in the kidneys. Vlad chirps in distress. In the
commotion, the fragile diary gets torn to pieces. Tearing at your assailant’s hands you blindly run out
of the cabin, narrowly missing the door frame, Alex still attached to your back like an angry Chinese
leech.

“I’m sorry!” you shout, trying to shake him off, “I’m allergic to wolves! I didn’t mean to leave you!”

“And I’m allergic to being bitten by wolves!” he screams, his knees squeezing tighter around your
waist.

Then you’re upside down, rolling down a gently sloping hill like two overgrown children playing at
wrestling. With a painful jolt you come to a halt, the wind knocked straight out of you. Groaning, you
clamber to your knees, clutching your aching ribs. In your left hand you’re still holding what remains
of the diary, by now only the leather cover. A few feet away Alex is lying, apparently unconscious.
He’s in a terrible mess, blood all over and his clothes torn to shreds. Kneeling down next to him, you
check his breathing. Nothing. Be calm, you tell yourself. You’ve read about this in a book somewhere.
The face-to-face method? Kneeling, you put your mouth next to his, exhaling strongly. His chest rises
imperceptibly, and the blood of several species mixes in your mouth.

“Behold! The fiend has claimed another victim!”

Shitshitshitshit. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Charles Beaumont, his ridiculous goatee
glistening with wax, standing over you, accompanied by his smirking brother and apparently most of
the village. “No, no, no… this is NOT what it looks like,” you plead, Alex’s blood running down your
lips.

“That’s what they all say, hellspawn,” Charles says, racking his crossbow.

“Yeah, they all say th –ooowch!” Tad Beaumont chimes in, before another smack from his brother
silences him yet again. You decide to quietly resign yourself to your fate. A stake isn’t that bad, after
all. It’s probably quicker than most ways to go, once they hammer it in. Closing your eyes, you wait
for the inevitable.

Just as you imagine the wood prodding your skin, a mighty howl splits the night air. As you open your
eyes again, you see a pack of very hungry wolves charging into the crowd, bowling several of the
townsfolk over. A particularly large beast, foaming at the mouth like one of those modern steam
powered dishwashing appliances, throws itself over Charles Beaumont, knocking the large man to
the ground. Tad screams and takes off in full flight, two of the animals chasing him. Standing up to
survey the scene, you see nothing but absolute mayhem. If you ever wanted to slip away, now’s your
chance. Some of the men, braver than the others, are fighting back with axes and clubs, wolves
howling in pain as the villagers lay into them. On the ground next to you is Charles’s crossbow,
dropped in the fall. Charles himself is still pinned under the snarling beast, fighting just as viciously as
it. Finally, out of the corner of your eye you see a small canine shape with large claws, softly chirping,
dragging a bunch of crumbling pages in its mouth and heading towards the river.

DO YOU:

Pick up the crossbow and help Charles and the villagers, hoping to earn their trust? Turn to page 147.

Run away now that you have the chance, and confront Victor about your discoveries? Turn to page 5.

Follow Vlad the Badger, attempting to recover more of what could very well be vital evidence? (Or a
good recipe for fish soup) Turn to page 88.

Page 88 (The Saddest Rhino)

You consider your current situation. As of now, you have a whole village who disapprove of your
fashion sense wanting you to burn, a pack of wolves wanting to have you for dinner, an unconscious
Chinese who wants to crunch your bones for some oriental aphrodisiac, a vigilante wanting to put a
stake through your heart, and said vigilante’s brother wanting to… honestly, you have no idea what
that guy wants. Your only friend now - if you discount Victor who may or may not be a maniacal serial
killer - is scampering away from you.

You pick up your cane, and with the lightest of feet, run after Vlad. The snarls of wolves continue
behind you. “Vlad,” you whisper while making the same lip-smacking sounds you do when you fawn
over your stuffed bat collection, “I’m coming, Vlad.” In the darkness, you hear a small chirp and press
on. As you pace further away from the crowd, sudden flashes of light illuminate the forest. You look
back without stopping, and see the sky lit with colours. Apparently someone found the fireworks in
Alex’s wagon…

Suddenly, gravity is no longer in your favour. You yelp as your left foot is lifted from the ground. In
nary a second you are hanging upside down from a tree, your foot caught in a rope trap. With
another loud bang, Alex’s firework shone through the forest, and you could see Vlad catching the
rose fluttering off your lapel. At a corner of your eye you see too the fleeting shadow of a humanoid
figure swinging a large object at your head.

Everything becomes night, and you see nothing.

Turn to Page 19.


Page 19 (The Saddest Rhino)

Vlad comes off your shoulder reluctantly as you hand it to Victor. “Just a few minutes and I’ll be
back,” you persuade, though it does not seem convinced. You straighten your back for Alex to put on
your cape and hat. With cane in hand, you dismiss them, and walk out to the balcony of your castle.
The crowd below you halts to a silence upon your basking in their presence.

You wave your hand, and the village screams in ecstasy. Some have fallen to the ground, while most
are kneeling down, their faces bright with admiration. You smile.

“…you want a bucket on hi…” you hear faintly.

The water in your moat rises up against gravity, and crashes into your castle.

You awake with a startle, and find yourself seated, your whole body wet and smelling of something
foul. As your vision gets used to the light, you can make out two figures – one large and the other
considerably diminutive.

“Ah, there you are!” The short one pushes his face to you and speaks, his saliva splashing on your
face. “Terribly sorry for all that. You see, my man-ape hybrid here, Gor-Gor…”

“I’m no monkey, nor derived from one, you godless scientist!” the larger one yells.

“Descended, Gor-Gor. Dee-send-ded. Perhaps I should not have fixed you with a brain of a
godfearing man with a lisp. My mistake.” The larger one just grunted in reply. Ignoring him, the short
man continues spluttering at your face. “Anyway, awful, awful business. Gor-Gor thought you were a
man-bat hybrid. A wild one! And I got so excited only to discover you’re just a common vampire.”

“I am NOT a –“ you started, but the short man continued babbling. “Well, it’s a shame, because I
really did not know if they exist naturally. I mean, evolution and everything. Works in strange ways.
Oh, have I introduced myself?” He hands you a card. “Vincent Moreau. Human-Animal Hybrid
Inventor/Eugenics Alchemist. Call me Vinnie.”

Vinnie? Your vision clears, and you see before you the diminutive figure sitting on a high stool calling
himself Vinnie is, in fact, not a “Vincent Moreau”. You know this because what he handed to you is
the registration card for a “Local Veterinarian” named “Vincin Myoocus.” And Gor-Gor… well, to be
fair to Vinnie, he does look a little like an ape.

Oh, and you are tied up in a chair. Terrific.

A familiar chirp sounds from below you, and Vinnie jumps off his stool with considerable glee. When
he got back up again to face you, Vlad is snuggling comfortably in his hands while Vinnie removes the
remnants of “V’s diary” from its teeth. Vinnie… V… oh. “I see you have met Mr Badger!” He tells you.
“Mr Badger is a badger-cuckoo hybrid…”
“Young badgers chirp, you bleeding heart liberal!”

“Oh, Gor-Gor, you and your funny way of thinking. I don’t even know where he comes up with his
vocabulary.” You confess you have no idea, either. “But back to Mr Badger. I’ve stationed him in my
laboratory to take care of my work and my notes, but it appears that you, you horrible vampire, you
have taken to yourself to burn down the whole forest and my lab is now ruined! All my work, now
ashes and dust! If it were not for Mr Badger’s keen intuition my notes too would have succumbed.
Well, it’s a good thing he procured – “ He waves one of the pages in your face as he screams, “my
man-bat hybrid lab notes! And what wonders I shall do upon you! Now, if you excuse me, Gor-Gor
and I have to obtain some instruments to use on you. You’ll be marvelous. You'll be fabulous.
Perhaps you may even fly.”

And just as sudden as his outburst, Vinnie hops off his stool in a huff. You see Gor-Gor already
climbing up a ladder at a corner leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling, and Vinnie following suit. The
trapdoor shuts with a sickening thud.

You instinctively move your arms, only to realize that Gor-Gor, despite being a surprisingly good
linguist, never scored any badges for tying up knots. You quickly undo yourself and survey the room.
It is a rather bare basement. A large table stands behind Vinnie’s stool, and on it you see a mole and
a rat in what looks like a poorly-made replica of a Victorian house. A toad croaks as it sees you
approaching it, but cannot move due to it being stuck into a child’s toy car. Vlad, or Mr Badger, is on
the floor chewing up the man-bat hybrid notes that Vinnie apparently forgot.

There is a box on the table. You open it and see a lump of black, half-burnt objects.

Your heart sinks upon the realization of them being your stuffed bat collection.

As you mourn, you hear something. Whispers? You cannot be certain where they were coming from,
but you do not see anyone in the room with you other than the animals.

Do you:

Wait for Vinnie, or Gor-Gor, to return? Turn to Page 41

Attempt an escape? Turn to Page 392

Investigate the whispers? Turn to Page 5


Page 5 (Command Ant)

Having long since recognized your better judgment as more of a detriment, you decide to hold off on
escaping just long enough to find the source of the incessant whispering. Fortunately, with Vlad’s
help, it doesn’t take long to find the source of the whispering. In the corner of the room, there is a
small, dented old phonograph, sitting next to a wicker basket and piece of paper with the words
“GHOST COBRA DO NOT AGITATE” written beautifully on them.

“Ghost cobra?!” you say aloud in confusion. Almost as if on cue, the unsecured top of the wicker
basket flies off, and what appears to be a cobra with a white cloth over its head rears up. You and
Vlad immediately freeze as the cobra jerks it head around and makes the angriest noises you have
ever heard come out of anything. Out of all of the people and animals you have come across tonight,
this one is probably the most agitated. Thankfully, the cloth over it seems to be lacking any eyeholes.
You begin to slowly moving away, hoping that Vlad will follow your lead.

“Don’t mooooooooooooooooove!”

A harsh whisper comes from behind you. You quickly turn around to see Dr. Moreau, who had
entered the basement while you were distracted.

“That’s a ghost cobra,” Moreau quietly and tensely exclaims. “Gor-Gor found his corpse in a wagon
ransacked by werewolves. The cloth and the Mongolian whisper music were supposed to make him
feel more at home. However, in my haste, I had foolishly forgotten that ghost cobras hate vampires!
If we do not find him a ghost mate soon, he will curse us with-”
“I am not a vampire and this animal clearly isn’t dead, you lummox!” you yell angrily. The vibrations
of your indignant insult alert the cobra to your presence, and it instinctively lunges towards you.
Fortunately, the cloth over its head provides enough of a handicap that it completely misses you and
flies fangs-first towards Moreau. In a moment of improbable luck, Moreau is able to grab the cobra in
mid-air. It promptly wraps most of its body around his arm and doubles its efforts to bite anything
and everything.

“Help!” Moreau shrieks in terror. “A ghost cobra is attacking me!” Almost on cue, Gor-Gor clumsily
tumbles into the basement. Rather than looking remotely concerned, however, he is absolutely
furious.

“LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND IN THE FURNACE!” he bellows, holding a collection of burnt papers in his
chunky hands, his lumpy face twisted with rage. As burnt as they are, you can still tell that they are
burlesque pictures of plump women. Rather than helping the doctor, Gor-Gor rushes at him and
begins hitting him with his own pornography. “IT’S GARBAGE AND I WON’T HAVE IT IN THIS HOUSE!”
Gor-Gor yells as he pummels both the doctor and the furious cobra with the dirty pictures.

You immediately recognize the strange scene playing out before you as the best chance you are
going to get to escape, but not without Vlad. As you reach for him, you pause, remembering Alex.
Even if he was clearly smuggling fireworks and venomous snakes, you cannot avoid feeling pangs of
guilt from abandoning him twice. As you wonder if your conscience can handle abandoning another
person, you notice Vlad chirping as he paws at a hatch on the floor. A sub-basement, perhaps? Why
would Vlad be so interested in what is down there?

DO YOU:

Pick up Vlad and flee the basement? Turn to page 81

Help the doctor? Turn to page 27

Open the trap door and follow Vlad? Turn to page 102

Page 102 (Artix74)

This is the second time you've found yourself at wit's end tonight, no thanks to being called a
vampire, and you're just about sick of it. While Moreau is preoccupied with the "Ghost" Cobra and
Gor-Gor burning his pornography, you realize that this is your best chance to get the hell out of here,
but you can't help but wonder what has Vlad's attention.

Realizing that logic hasn't really gotten you that far tonight, you pry open the trap door, hoping to
find something that can get you out of this mess, because really, when was the last time a badger led
you wrong?

"Stop!" Moreau yells as he briefly turns away from the Cobra, but you quickly dart into the
subbasement before he can stop you. Once inside, you realize that you've found what must be a
small zoo of animals. You notice a cage with a note reading "Transfigured human into bird? Must
investigate further," and have to silence a chuckle when you see a common parrot, realizing this is
probably one of Moreau's labs.

Vlad runs ahead of you to the far corner of the room, where he excitedly starts hitting a small cage.
Following him, you see another badger in the cage, with a note revealing that this badger can "Detect
werewolves with 95% accuracy, or your money back!" You laugh to yourself, thinking that he might
be attempting to breed them to sell or something. Vlad is insistent on getting inside the cage,
however, and you can't find a key to open it after a quick look around. Do you:

Look for some way to free this mystery badger that Vlad wants out? (turn to page 315)

Take Vlad and get the hell out of here? (turn to page 271)
Further investigate the zoo of "supernatural" animals? (turn to page 92)

Page 315 (Mouser..)

Hearing what sounds like footsteps running around frantically above you. You squint in the darkness
and peer into the cage that Vlad is scrabbling at with his claws in an attempt to open it. Inside,
huddled in the back corner of the cage, you see what appears at first glance to be a skunk. Looking
closer, you don't seem to recall skunks having 5 inch long razor sharp claws and a positively evil
looking set of teeth.

Scratching your head, you try to reason with your badger friend "Vlad, I'm sure this is one of your
friends but he looks like he would be better off inside of the cage." Vlad looks at you quizically and
stops scrabbling at the cage, instead he immediately runs behind you, jumps and digs his claws into
your back, making what you can only assume is angry chirping in your ear. Spinning wildly in an
attempt to dislodge him, you scream "AHH! Get off me! AAHHHH! Alright, I'll let him free, just let
go!" At your words, Vlad jumps down and resumes standing next to the cage and mildly pawing at
the latch. With a deep breath, you kneel over and release the latch to the cage.

As soon as the cage door is open, the skunkly looking badger runs directly towards the opening and
launches itself towards your head, reeling backwards, you scream "No! No! Don't eat my eyes!"
Using your head as a launching platform, The Skunky Beast jumps behind you and confronts what
was attempting to sneak up behind you. The Ghost Cobra, having either dispatched Dr. Moreau or
slipping through his grasp now stands before you poised to strike. Before it is able to, your new black
and white badger savior grabs Ghost Cobra's sheet-laden head in it's powerful jaws and bites down
hard. You see blood seep through the white sheet and Ghost Cobra goes limp. Vlad immediately joins
in and proceeds to assist Skunky in tearing Ghost Cobra's lifeless remains to shreds. When they are
finally through, they both gather around your legs, running in circles around you.

Hesistantly accepting your newest recruit for the time being, you turn your attention back to your
surroundings. You no longer hear any footsteps above you, and you are surprised that neither Dr.
Moreau or Gor-Gor have followed you to the basement. Surveying the room, you can see that it is
lined with cages that have what you can only assume are animal sounds coming out of them. You are
hesistant to investigate what other monstronsities could possibly be contained in this room if this
nightmare of a badger is a sample. Finally, you notice a desk that has intruiging drawings on it. You
realize that these are drawings of YOU performing many of the heinous acts that you are accused of,
sitting beside them is a unfinished letter that you see at first glance is written to a Sir Charles
Beaumont.

Do you:

Want to investigate what has become of Dr. Moreau and Gor-Gor? Turn to page 420.
Visit Dr. Moreau's animal zoo? Turn to page 233.

Read the letter and investigate the desk further? Turn to page 310.

Page 310 (Chewbot)

Fight as you might against reason and rationale, your battered instincts urging you to escape the
awful animal farm of Moreau, the overpowering burden of human curiosity drives you towards the
desk where you find a series of articulate sketches of yourself doing absurd and heinous things to the
poor and innocent. You have to admit, it's a good likeness. Of particular note is the border of each
picture; "WANTED" and below that, "CASH REWARD", followed by a number that makes your head
spin. Well, that explains the sudden crowd that had formed around your mansion.

One picture includes you strangling a young woman, fangs wrapped around her neck, another has
you descending in spectacular fashion onto a cow, mad with hunger. A third... CRIPES, c'mon guys!
You have never been attracted to sheep and even if you were the first picture makes it clear you can
get women whenever you want.

A letter lies nearby, ink bottle spilled and scattered across the table. Still fresh, Moreau was probably
in the middle of writing it when you showed up. Vlad scrambles around the room chirping and
tumbling with the other badger, having a great time. You're not sure why you thought a badger was
going to lead you to safety or freedom. Moreau's letter is written with an eccentric flourish one might
expect a mad scientist to have, and stuttering your way through it takes some time.

---

"Sir Charles Beaumont,

It is with great and terriblous regretitude that I am unable to sponsor the hunting of said Vampirus
Nocturnis. I'm truly apologetical that recent laboratory expenseries have quite impactered my coffers
of late with the rising prices of lazuli, cardamom and high-quality anesthesias. I understand that
funding the huntering of nocturnal nightmares is expensive work but being a man of science I am
personally becoming skeptical as to the legitimacery of the supernaturation phenomenon as a whole!

For these reasons I will regretfully not be including the usual donatery..."

---

It trails off here, and with a touch of horror things are starting to come together in your head. The
Beaumonts are sending pictures of you to wealthy private individuals asking for funding? You recall
seeing similar posters in the town before of various freaks- wolfmen and hunchbacked ghouls. Wait a
second... WAIT A SECOND! Are the Beaumonts making false wanted posters of innocent people and
raising cash from private investors to hunt them down?! Have they been kidnapping girls and cows to
create their own monsters to chase for fun and profit? MADNESS! and also admittedly pretty clever.

As you ponder the gravity of it all you head back up the stairs, dumbfounded, glad to leave the
stinking pit of animals behind. Glancing timidly at the top of the stairs, you don't notice anyone
moving about and the place seems quiet. You make a dash for the door and stumble over a lump
hidden behind one of the tables, spinning around, praying not to find what you suspect you'll find.
Dr. Moreau lays crumpled in a heap, unmoving. You timidly poke his head, which rolls to the side,
revealing fang marks on his neck where the "ghost" cobra must have bit him- some of the most
deadly ghost venom in the ghost animal kingdom if you recall correctly.

It is, of course, at this point that a man bursts through the nearby door. Through the portal you can
see Gor-Gor and an angry group of wounded locals gesturing with Charles about something. Must
have found the house after the melee, looking for shelter.

"THE VAMPEEERE KEEELLS AGAIIIN!" the man screeches, eyes wide, pointing to Moreau's swollen
and bleeding neck-holes. "THAT'S HIM!" shouts Gor-Gor. "WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" you
reply. The crowd, Charles Beaumont in the lead, is shuffling towards the doorway! His tone is cold as
ice. "You'll not escape this time, monster." He unsheathes a hunting knife of unnecessary girth.

Uh oh, that sounds serious. "I am NOT a..." you start... "Oh, fuck it." You glance around the room in
desperation- only one way out; through Charles. The basement door hangs open, a dead end full of
terrible creatures. Lab equipment of various usefulness lies scattered around the room.

Do you:

Dive back into the basement, throwing open the cages hoping to distract the crowd? Turn to page
311

Grab the nearest, most lethal looking bit of lab equipment and start swinging wildly? Turn to page 22

Try to bluff your way out of the situation with your terrifying "Vampire Powers"? Turn to page 276

Page 311 (Bobbin Threadbare)

You allow your first instinct to take over, which is to flee this murderous crowd as fast as possible.
Sadly, the only place to flee from a mob like this is down, and so you once again find yourself
surrounded by seemingly endless cages in the mad doctor's basement.

The badgers, meanwhile, have busied themselves with fending off the mob. Unfortunately, the
weapon-wielding peasants who just survived a wolf attack aren't phased much by badgers, no matter
how ferocious, and so they only provide you with a few seconds' breathing room before being driven
off themselves.

Still, you manage to get fairly deep into the sub-basement before you hear footsteps clattering down
the staircase. Looking around, you find that you have stumbled upon a massive row of wolf cages!
Glancing around, you notice that bits of silver and wolfsbane are scattered, ignored throughout the
cages, and several in one section appear to have random bits of fur shaved off, with assorted arms
and ears and such badly stitched onto their bodies. Every wolf is looking at you, angry and hungry.
It's really no wonder a pack of wolves attacked a fully armed band of humans if Moreau was doing
this to them!

More clattering and cursing reminds you that you are supposed to doing something right now. You
quickly run along the row, unfastening the cage doors and praying to whatever gods are listening
that they attack your pursuers first. As it happens, Beaumont himself is leading the charge, and he
passes the nearest wolf cages just as it nuzzles the cage open, realizing that it is finally free. You have
by now passed on to another row, but you distinctly hear Charles shouting, "Not again!" and the
sounds of a melee starting up.

Do you:

Dash straight for the exit now that the mob is distracted? Turn to page 125

Feel sorry for the mostly innocent people and help them out? Turn to page 17

Feel sorry for the mostly innocent wolves and help them out? Turn to page 71

Page 125 (NeoAnjou)

Deciding that this may be your only chance to escape, you half run, half sneak behind a row of cages
back towards the staircase. The disgusting mixture of smells: blood, sweat, faeces, cheap-beer and
animal funk almost makes you vomit. Grabbing your trusty handkerchief, you hold it in front of your
nose to staunch the revolting odor.

As you reach closer to the stairs, the sights and sounds of a violent struggle come from the other side
of the barrier which is currently offering you scant concealment, and you happily note than that mob
of one-hundred odd men, women and children from earlier in the night has shrunk to only the
twenty or so most committed, and drunken, pursuers.

Suddenly a wolf appears in the aisle in front of you, snarling hideously, its open mouth dripping blood
and drool, and with violence in its eyes. Turn to page 2.
Page 2 (NeoAnjou)

Instinctively adopting a submissive pose, the wolf seems unimpressed by your pathetic attempts to
flatter it, and jumps for your throat. Sacrificing what remains of your dignity, you drop into the thick
layer of mud, excrement and straw on the ground, as the leap carries the wolf high over your back,
slamming it into the cage behind you and temporarily rendering it insensible.

Gathering what remains of your willpower, you mount the stairs. As you pass the desk in the
basement, you grab the correspondence from the Beaumonts, noting that their family lodge is only a
few miles distant. You stuff the pages into you jacket and exit up a winding staircase to find yourself
in a large entrance hall. Resisting the temptation to explore the other rooms of what is evidently a
vast mansion, you head out of the stately entrance.

A smaller mob of those too scared, tired or drunk to enter the mansion of Dr. Moreau await you
outside. Thinking on your feet you shout: ‘Quick! The beast is trying to escape around the back - after
him!’ and watch satisfied as they run (or in one case, waddle) towards the rear of the house. Praising
whoever was sensible enough to bring along a pair of horses on their mission of destruction, you
appropriate the better looking of the two, and untie the other giving it a firm slap on the rump to
send it off into the forest.

Do you:

Ride to the Beaumont lodge, looking for further evidence to clear your name? Turn to 213

Return to your own mansion, thinking it must be safe by now? Turn to page 123

Look around for a means to destroy this crazy place, and hopefully with it much of the mob who have
been hounding you all night? Turn to page 321

Page 213 (Ursus Veritas)

You arrive at the Beaumont's lodge unharmed and relatively unmolested; leaving your horse, you
ascend the steps to the rather imposing front doors which appear to be covered in, if you're not
mistaken, a leopard pelt adorned with a fresh wolf skull, still dripping blood and saliva. Briefly, you
consider knocking and then decide that it's already been a long goddamn day, opting instead to
simply kick the door in and expediate the whole process. The Beaumonts' front hall is decorated in
what you'd best describe as Texan steakhouse chic, the walls are blood red (which you're coming to
suspect may be the Beaumonts' favourite colour) and the floors are lined with gleaming white animal
skeletons including what you count to be thirty-four wolf skulls in various states of decomposition.

As you take in the macabre sight you hear tentative footsteps on the floor above; “Chuckie! Is that
you?” Reacting you scurry into the nearest open door and find yourself in a room lined with a large
variety of cruel looking blades. You grab a dagger set with rubies and obsidian before hiding behind
the door. The footsteps are now coming from the stairs. From your vantage point you can see a very
bloody Tad Beaumont descending slowly; his body is wrapped almost head to toe in bandages and he
is heavily favouring his right leg. “Listen, I know you're mad about the whole running away thing but
you see I wasn't running I-I was umm leading the wolves away! Yeah that's it I was leading them
away to give you ti-” as he reaches the bottom of the stairs he notices the door kicked in, splinters
everywhere and the wolf's head hanging askew - its mouth open in a canine grin.

“Is that you Vampire?” Tad asks cautiously. Furious, you explode from your hiding place, “I AM NOT A
VAMP- well fuck” Tad is grinning like a Cheshire cat (on the wall, fourth from the right) and exclaims:
“I'll kill you and show Chuckie I'm no coward!” In unison you draw your respective weapons;
unfortunately for you your piddly dagger pales in comparison to Tad's vicious hand axe. Relying on
your (not)vampire instincts you turn tail and run further into the Beaumonts' cabinet of curiosities.
The lodge however is nowhere near as large as the mansion and you soon find yourself in what you'd
consider the only remotely civil room in the place: a rather well kept study lined with bookshelves
(admittedly those shelves were also lined with countless animal remains of unknown origin). Before
you have time to do anything other than make a cursory glance at the room Tad barrels in after you.
Ducking a vicious horizontal swing you take the only option available to you and push Tad with all
your strength; off-balance you watch him fall head first into the base of one of the great bookcases,
knocking him out cold. Your relief is short-lived however, as you watch on in horror as a human
shaped skull, jostled by the collision, rolls slowly off the shelf and lands mouth first on Tad's
unprotected neck. Biting down on your fist, you try not to scream. Removing the skull reveals two
clean puncture holes in the man's flesh. In agony you place the skull back in place and, with growing
apprehension, examine the brass nameplate affixed to the shelf. Homo vampirus.

“Fucking perfect.”

Do you:

Search the lodge to find evidence that could exonerate you? Turn to Page 9

Grab your horse and head home - who will look there? Turn to Page 37

Try to destroy any evidence you were ever here and killed anyone? Turn to Page 451
Page 9 (Humbug Schoolbus)

Looking around the first floor you find it stuffed with items purchased from eBay and "As Seen On
TV". Weaving your way around stacks of Millard Fillmore inaugural commemorative snow globes and
back issues of Guns and Ammo, you eventually make it to the kitchen.

This room is dominated by the huge fireplace complete with roasting spit at one end and the air is
filled with the deafening sounds of salsa music blaring from a radio. The cook is busily at work
chopping up something that is unidentifiable and seems to be still moving.

Moving quickly, you sneak across the kitchen to the partially open door on the other side. There are
stairs leading down and before the cook notices you, you slip inside and pull the door shut.

Going down the stairs you find yourself in a room with a large steel table and a variety of cabinets on
the walls. Checking the first cabinet reveals gore encrusted surgical and power tools. The second,
various horns, antlers, fangs, and scales. Your movements have attracted some attention and you
hear a faint groaning in the darkness.

Moving over you see three cells. The first two are empty, but the last one has a strange looking man
in it.

He is lying on his stomach on a cot and it looks like someone is in the process of sewing alligator hide
all over his body. His back and both legs are done and one of his arms, but the rest looks normal.

There is a clipboard on the cell door labeled "Lizard Beast Prototype 1" with the instructions "Get
more handbags to finish arm and head."

Also by the cells there is a door leading deeper into this house of terrors.

Do you:

Open the door and quest further? Turn to Page 75

Open the cell and help the poor victim? Turn to Page 5

You've found enough evidence. Escape back up through the kitchen? Turn to Page 92

Page 5 (JosephWongKS)
You have not seen any keys in your thorough search of the room – perhaps the “Lizard Beast” may be
able to tell you where the Beaumonts have kept the key to his cell.

“Hey, wake up, sir,” you quietly declare your presence, prudently far enough away from the bars that
he could not claw you if he tried – who knows if the torments visited by the Beaumonts on the
prisoner have not driven him mad?

The unfortunate lizardman snores loudly and rolls over, revealing a key on a chain around his neck.
That’s funny – wouldn’t someone with the key prefer to nap outside the cell? Perhaps the Beaumonts
are so confident that their prisoner has been thoroughly broken that they seek to torture him further
by allowing him to have the very key to freedom at all times, knowing full well that he no longer has
the lucidity or willpower to stage a break-out.

You swiftly drop the line of thought – no use speculating on the motives and thought processes of
persons as cruel and peculiar as the Beaumonts. Look too deeply into the abyss and the abyss looks
right back at you, you’ve heard. If the Beaumonts have conveniently given the prisoner the means for
his own escape, so much the better.

“Please wake up, sir,” you repeat gently. “Pass me the key around your neck and we can unlock your
cell and get out of this house together. After that, we’ll expose the Beaumonts for the villains that
they are and I’ll help you look for assistance to remove the alligator hide from your body.”

The lizardman has by now awoken, and he belly-crawls over to the cell door, his body reeking with
the stench of putrescence, no doubt due to festering sores beneath the alligator hide sewn onto his
body.

“Please pass me the key on your neck,” you request politely of the lizardman, pointing to the key-
chain around his neck. He merely tilts his head, still on his belly, his eyes vacant and
uncomprehending.

You decide that the lizardman is sufficiently meek for you to risk placing your hand within reach of a
bite or claw attack, and you reach into the cell and lift the key-chain from his neck. He simply stares
blankly at you and makes no move to exit the cell even after you’ve unlocked and opened the door.

As you gaze upon the lizardman, you realize that you recognise the expression on his face, having
witnessed it often on your prey animals during your numerous hunting trips in the forest. It is the
masque mortis of one who is about to die, from gunshot and arrow in the case of rabbit and deer,
and from infection coupled with mental collapse in the case of the lizardman. He will surely slow you
down if you try to bring him out of the house with you, and he will surely die if he does not receive
proper medical treatment within the day.

Do you:

Leave the lizardman behind and escape back up alone through the kitchen? Turn to 92.
Carry the lizardman on your back and escape back up with him through the kitchen? Turn to 100.

Page 92 (IAmTheRad)

You decide that you spent enough time in the house, and it's time to leave. You make your way up
the stairs, and look into the kitchen briefly long enough to see that the cook is gone. You quickly
make your way to the double doors, and manage to get out of the building, and run into a pale
looking lady with long black hair wearing a gown of some sort. She eyes you up and down then sighs,
sounding a little relieved.

“Oh, good. You're not dead. That's a relief. It'd be harder to help you if you were deceased.” She
looks at you again, her eyes seeming to glow slightly in the moonlight.

“Who are you, Miss?” you inquire, and she seems to perk up at the question.

“I'm here to help you. They're looking for a vampire, aren't they? Who would have thought a vampire
would be hiding in the very house of the Beaumonts? Not to mention seeing all they have to hide.
Even if you're not what you seem, you'd have seen to much,” she plainly speaks. She then smiles and
something about her smile is a bit off. “We don't want them capturing you.”

The lady looks at you to respond. “I can help you escape.” You also see a way that will lead you
towards your home once more. There probably won't be anybody waiting there anymore.

Do you:

Let the lady help you? Turn to page 42

Return to your home? Turn to page 123

Page 42 (Man With Hat)

Even though we ultimately want to clear our name, that would be tricky if we were to be found,
captured and brutally murdered by stake, so for now the escape suggested by the lady will have to
do. Maybe she can help with the clearing of the name later as well? It's worth a shot!

"Okay, lady, what's your plan?"


"Follow me", she replies in a short manner and starts half running up the stairs.

After following the strange woman through what you would consider unnecessarily elaborate
corridor systems for a couple of minutes, she suddenly stops in front of a door, searching her bra for
the keys.

Behind the door, you see, to your terror, Charles Beaumont waiting with a wide grin upon his face.

"See, I brought him! Now will you marry me?" the woman cries out as she rushes to the side of her
beloved "monster" hunter. After a time span just long enough to wonder why the hell they went
through all the trouble of tricking you instead of just shooting, Charles rushes towards you, stake in
hand

If you still have your cane, turn to page 3

If you have lost your cane but found a dagger, turn to page 34

If you have neither, turn to page 148

Page 34 (Man With Hat)

Luckily, this evening has left you quite on edge and with the added boost of sudden adrenaline, you
somehow manage to sidestep Charles and stab him in the arm with his very own dagger. As it turns
out, holding on to a stake whilst running with a dagger in your arm is not something Charles had
been training to do, and he drops the stake as he misses you and run straight into the wall and falls
over.

This is your chance to stop this maniac once and for all.

If you are a terrible human being who dosn't value life or our justice system, turn to page 268. (Kill
him)

If your noble human nature and knightly moral code prevents you from personally murdering people
(but still allows you to send hungry wolves towards them) turn to page 393. (Don't kill him)

Page 393 (Slaan)


“Damn it, lady, see what you’ve done? You might have killed him!,” you screech as you both run
towards Charles. You hope that you remember your CPR training because it looks like he is knocked
out cold and is having trouble breathing. You turn him over and prepare to start pumping on his
chest when the woman pushes you roughly out of the way.

“NO! MY LOVE! DON’T LEAVE ME,” she cries as she takes the dagger from her beloved’s arm. “Why?
Why must you die? I can’t live without you!”
And with those words, she takes Charles into her arms and lies down under his now almost
breathless body. Laying his head next to her shoulder, she stabs him in the heart.

“THIS IS THE PAIN YOU’VE GIVEN ME! If I cannot have you living, I shall have you in the afterlife.” She
takes the knife and places it against her neck as you watch, aghast. You try to reach her before she
can do the deed, but there is no hope. She dies with Charles Beaumont’s mouth soaking in the blood
of her severed arteries.

Turn to page 23

Page 23 (Slaan)

You are still stunned when there comes a pounding at the front door of the Beaumont mansion. It
sounds like a sledgehammer is hitting a wrecking ball which is knocking down a tree that is falling
against the door.

Which, apparently, it is! As you turn and rush down the hall, you have to suddenly dodge back as a
small oak tree comes flying down the foyer. What could launch such woeful wood? It seems it is Dr.
Frankenstein’s monster, nearly surrounding by the torch carrying mob of peasants. A bunch of
bedraggled peasants with suspiciously wolf-like pelts hanging off their shoulders, but torch carrying,
angry peasants, nonetheless.

They rush into the mansion after the monster, but both parties stop as soon as they see you and
cooling corpses of Beaumont and love behind you.

Have you uncovered Tad Beaumont’s diabolical plans? Turn to Page 13

If not, turn to Page 6

Page 13 (Slaan)
Thinking quickly, you know that the mob’s attention will only be captivated for seconds only. It seems
most of the idiot populace around here can’t tell reality from superstition, so you rest your hopes on
your quick wit and your high school seduction skills. May charisma save the day!

“STOP! Why are you chasing this poor angel? This poor creatures has been turned into such an ugly
beast by none other than the true vampire, Charles Beaumont!”
You move aside and point to the two corpses. “See how I have caught the beast feeding off this poor
maiden! I have stopped it momentarily, but it drinks even now. We must stake it through the heart!
Good angel, will you do the honors?” You nod towards Frankenstein’s monster and pray that it smart
enough to play along… or at least dumb enough to.

Luckily, the monster knows how to speak, if only barely, so it shuffles over to the tree still lying in the
foyer and raises it above the corpse. SQUISH! The splash of blood leaves almost nothing untouched.

Nauseously, you turn back to the townsfolk and gulp. “See the… power of this being? The vampire
had tricked you with his mental powers into trying to slay innocent townsfolk and turned this angel
into a monster with his devil magic. At dawn, the spell will be broken and it will be free to return to
Heaven, victorious once more over evil. Come, good people, let us put out the fires in the town and
praise the Lord, as only the thankful can!”

You push on the shoulders and make shooing motions at the crowd. You fear that you hadn’t
convinced the crowd and that you will be tonight’s stake flambeau, until, slowly but surely, the crowd
disperses and returns home.

With the gruesome collections of the Beaumonts upstairs, you think you will be able to add some
wings and maybe a wig to your new friend. He seems a nice sort of chap. Taking him by the arm, you
lead him upstairs, away from the destruction below. Maybe this turned out all right in the end.

Maybe you have a new butler.

Turn to Page 119

Page 19 – Epilogue (Slaan)

Two years later, you return to the mausoleum behind your old mansion. The remembrances of your
journey had been too hard to bear, and so you had to come back and think on what had happened to
you. Had happened to your friends. Had happened to your allies on that insane, wild night. What had
happened to Alex, Vlad and the others.

You had originally had the bodies of all of your friends burned. You didn’t know of any of their
families, if badgers have families, and so you couldn’t return the bodies. And your wounded body
was completely incapable of burying them normally, so you threw the bones out an old, dusty,
wooden coffin and placed your friend’s ashes in tiny jars inside of it, closing them away from the
sunlight. Forever.

Until today.

But now you kneel next to the coffin, trying not to cry and ashamed of you cowardice. You had run
from all of your foes, and used your friends as human (or badger, or wolf) shields to get away from
danger. Even though they all gave their lives up willing for you (except for Alex, but what does a
werewolf know?), you know that, perhaps, if you had stayed and fought with them, they would still
be alive today.

As you got ready to go, and reached for the lid of the coffin, to close it once and for all, there were
suddenly foot-steps behind on you on the mausoleum stairs. Paranoid since the day you left this
accursed town, you scrambled up and into the only hiding place, the coffin. Unfortunately, you
ripped your leg on a rusty nail sticking out from the top of it.

Turning over inside the coffin, thinking of only the pain, you grab at it and sit up once more, fingers
bloody. Mouth moaning. Face pale with bone-dust and a small trickle of blood from your bitten
tongue.

A sharp, short scream cuts into your pain-addled mind and you look over the top of the coffin to see
a small child pointing at you in fear. She walks slowly backwards, and then flees up the stairs.

“Wait, “ You cry as you jump out of the coffin and run after her. “I know this looks bad but I. AM.
NOT. A. VAMPIRE!”

But even as the words leave your mouth, you know it is too late. The girl has seen you rise out of a
coffin covered in blood. And you just so happened to limp out of the sepulcher at the exact moment
the sun slipped under the horizon and night began. And she was already screaming loud enough to
wake the whole village.

You have a feeling tonight will not be a good night.

END OF “I AM NOT A VAMPIRE)

Various deaths and other dead ends

Page 16 (Bene Elim)


This idiot is getting you nowhere fast, but the mob is a fickle lot. If you can bring this man’s ‘Beast’ to
them, then they may lose interest in you, perhaps not permanently, but long enough to slip out of
town.

The man is still rambling on about werewolves and bunny powered doomsday devices, and you
doubt you’ll get a word in to say farewell. You contemplate pouring your drink over his head but you
may need his help later. No point in alienating the one person in town who isn’t trying to kill you. You
set down your drink, snatch up your cane and leave the room, cape billowing behind you. Heading
towards the rear door you can still hear him blithering away at no one. Crazy fool.

You slip out the back into the ‘doctor’s’ garden. There is a rosebush here, so you pluck off a fresh bud
for your buttonhole. You’re on the run, your house is burning down, and you’re going on the hunt for
a ‘monster’ but damnit! No self respecting man of your family goes anywhere without a rose!

Peering over the wall, you see no-one. The stupid bastards must still be watching the inferno. ‘The
guy we were after goes swooping out of the window on a kite, but we can stay watch everything he
has burn before we go search for him. Haderp.’ You think. Stupid hic European villages. A loud thump
shakes the ground under your feet as the gunpowder catches, followed by a loud chorus of ‘ooooh’s
and ‘aaaaaah’s. Your house is exploding, and they’re having a good time. You make a mental note to
kill everyone in the village at some point.

You stick to the back alleys and dumps, the most likely places to find monsters, and avoid villagers.
Eventually you are rewarded. An enormous figure hunches in the shadows in front of you. You
approach cautiously.

“Hello?”

The creature stands slowly and turns towards you. His right shoulder is significantly higher than his
left, his feet are mismatched, and his breath draws in a hideous groan. He lumbers towards you and,
not for the first time, you wonder if this was a good idea. His face comes into the light and you are
forced to quickly choke back a scream and turn away.

“Helloooooo” The voice was....not that bad? “Did you come find Gunther?”

You turn back and notice that instead of being a scarred monstrosity, the man is simply hideously
ugly.

“Y-yes, I came to find you…” ‘Gunther looks genuinely pleased at this, so you continue, “Are you
Doctor Frank’s monster?” Whoops. Bad words.

Gunther let out a howl of anguish, and broke down sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Why Daddy say bad thing? Gunther try be good! Try be nice! But Daddy no like.”
“Daddy? Frank is your father?” Well that would count as ‘creating’, you reason.

“Uh-hu. Gunther have no friends. No one like gunther, not even Daddy. HuWAAAAAAH!” The big
lummox broke down crying again.

He’s obviously not a monster, but he might just look enough of one to draw off the Beaumonts.
You’d better try to be nice.

“There, there, Gunther. Tell you what; I’ll be your friend. Why don’t we go off and have an adventure
up at my mansion?”

“REALLY?!”

“Uhh... yeah.”

“WAHOO!! Gunther made Friend! And friend brought present!” Gunther jumps up and snatches the
rose from your button hole.

“Damnit, I’d only just found that....Oh, uh, I mean yes! Of course I brought you a present! Now come with me,
we’re going to have an adventure!” You try to look excited and beckon him to come with you.
Gunther doesn’t bite, instead he looks sad again.

“Gunther not have present for you. We got get you present first.” He snatches your hand in his
overlarge paw and drags you off, breaking every bone in your hand. “Never take and not give back.
Daddy teach Gunther manners good.”

You have no choice but to let the half-wit behemoth drag you into a nearby garden. He sets you
down and you finally let out a silent scream. Your left hand has been crushed so badly that the cane
handle has all but been absorbed into it. You force your gaze away from the useless lump, to see the
other one uprooting a tree.

“Gunther good friend! Give big present! You like?”

“Grargh... Yeah, it’s brilliant, Gunther.” The giant hefting a tree around is a little more than you can
cope with “Why don’t you put it down so I can have a proper look?”

“Ok.”

Gunther swings the tree around, but instead of setting it neatly on the ground, he drops it directly on
your head. Your final scream is lost to the clump of soil at its base and the weight crushes your skull
into a near flat disc.

You are dead.


You may now either turn to page 357, or slam the book down and storm off in a rage.

Page 91 (Green Intern)

Alex seems pretty set on going to his wagon, but you don’t have time for that. You realize that his
connection with the Beaumonts could be the credibility you need to finally convince the town that
you are definitely not a vampire.
“Listen Alex,” you say, “I’d be more than happy to help you find your wagon, but there are people
out there that want to kill me. I can’t do anything unless these yokels finally understand that I am as
mortal as they are!”

Alex purses his lips, and nods his head. The two of you make your way back towards town. As you
approach, you can see a faint reddish glow in the distance, and you can see the plumes of smoke
against the moon and the stars. It looks like your home is still burning strong. Perhaps they found
your personal library, or maybe they broke into the storage shed and set fire to the lantern oil and
bales of hay. Either way, it looks like your property value has dropped precipitously.

Alex tries to console you. “I’m very sorry about all this, but you understand how impressionable the
uneducated can be.” You nod in agreement as you and the foreigner walk into town. A woman
screams from her windowsill.

“The Vampire is back! And he’s brought forth some manner of beastman to destroy us all!”

Alex yells in indignation, “I’m Chinese you imbecile!” but his cries go unheard. The mob quickly
reforms around the both of you. You are seized roughly by the arms and legs, and brought before the
Beaumonts.

Charles Beaumont sneers, while his brother tries to look menacing. “Any last words, spawn of
Dracula?”

Your face burns with rage, and both you and Alex make one last attempt to convince the crowd.

“I. AM NOT. A VAM-!”

Your voices are cut short, as the hunters drive stakes through both of your chests.

Vampire or not: YOU HAVE DIED


Page 106 (Sensemann)

You decide that it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity for any kind of free stuff helpful
objects that could be left in the battered wagon. You grab Alex's wrist and lead him over to the
remains of his earthly possessions.
"I d-don't think this is a g-good idea..." he stammers nervously. Undeterred, you begin digging
around in the wagon, finding mostly shreds of butcher paper and crusty meat bits. Then, from the
corner of your eye, something catches your attention:
A small, filigreed box. You lean over and grab it. It is heavy for its size, and you begin to try opening it.
Alex notices your find and rushes over. "Hey, that's mine!" he shouts, a bit too loudly, apparently, as
a huge, gray wolf lunges out of the darkness
And rips out his throat. "OH SHI--!" You squeak as you continue to fidget with the box, now glancing
around looking for an escape route. Maybe it's newfound strength from adrenaline, or maybe you
simply tweaked the lid just right,
but the box pops open to reveal a small, silver revolver. Hell yeah! You take hold of your new prize
and drop the useless box, running blindly away from the wagon in an attempt to escape the wolf
pack.

You run through the forest for what seems like an eternity, trying to zig-zag a bit - you'd heard that
helps when running from animals. Turning to glance back at your pursuers, you fail to notice a huge
tree and WHAM,
you're on your ass. Scrambling on all fours to right yourself, you end up with your back against the
tree as three wolves converge on your location. Reaching into your pocket, you feel the cold metal of
your "borrowed" pistol, and pull it out, taking aim at the wolf straight ahead. You float the sights
between the wolf's eyes and cock the hammer, trying to think of something cool to say. "Say cheese,
motherf..." Aww, crap. That sucked. *click* *click* *click* SON OF A BITCH! Alex must have spent his
ammo budget on the silver plating. In desperation, you chuck the gun at the wolf, nailing it right in
the muzzle, soliciting a grunt and a snuffling sound. As the wolves close in, your life flashes before
your eyes in a succession of booming noises, and you feel the teeth of the wolf at your 10 o'clock sink
into your left shoulder.
You hear a familiar voice beckoning you into the pearly gates. Wait, Victor?? The hell? He's in
heaven? That doesn't make sense. Wait, that wasn't your life flashing and booming, it was Victor! He
slaps your cheeks a few times to rouse you.
You come round and notice a brace of pistols across Victor's chest, and the sulfury smell of spent
gunpowder. "Well, you've been bitten, unfortunately. Seems I finally have my werewolf." Victor half-
smirks. "No, wait!" You croak, "It's just a normal wolf!" You poke at the carcass, hoping that will
convince him somehow. It does not.
You get up and try to run, but the searing pain of your wound causes you to falter and Victor
snatches you under his arm, softly reassuring you, "Come now, let's just go back to my house and
we'll get you fixed up."

You spend the next couple of months in your mad friend's basement, slowly starving to death in a
cage alongside Alex's bodily waste.
You have died.

Page 75 (Ratatozsk)

he door initially doesn't budge, so it takes a few solid heaves before it finally gives. Just your luck
though, as the resistance finally gives way, a cacophony of breaking glass and clattering metal passes
through the opening doorway. Well, at least it's open, you might as well see what's inside.

After the places you've been tonight, you can at least say that this room doesn't reek of chemicals
and offal. You'd almost go so far as to call it pleasant, but that notion is quickly dispelled once you
realize where you are. Just a quick glance at the papers littering the room makes it clear that this
must be some sort of brainstorming lab. An entire desk to your left is covered with sketches of goats
connected in various fashions (welding, glue, bolts) to what look to be shop vacs. Across the latest
one is scribbled "TOO LITERAL!" in angry, red marker.

A bulletin board on the wall contains an eclectic shopping list which includes everything from surgical
sutures to clown shoes to a smeared entry reading "...elerated action Finasteride, clinical tria..." and
strewn across the floor are well-thumbed scientific journals flopped open to case studies on lethal
dosing of allium sativum and the ballistics results for a variety of silver alloys. But the flow-chart
sketched on the wall opposite the door is what truly catches your eye. Although it takes a moment to
wrap your mind around the web of relationships connecting the Beaumonts, the townsfolk, Victor,
Moreau, you, and even Alex, the intent of the chart's maker suddenly becomes clear to you.

Turn to page 14.

Page 14 (Ratatozsk)

Of course! You'd never have figured this out on your own, but with all the information in front of
you, the entire evening makes complete sense! What's more, you realize that dispatching Tad may
have been the smartest move you've made all night (or the luckiest, at least, given the circumstances
of his death.) But no matter, all you need to do now is show the townsfolk what you've discovered.
After seeing this, they'll have to believe you. Even Charles will have to lay down his torch in the face
of this.

Excitedly, you rush back to the cell in the previous room. Banging on the bars, you shout "Wake up! I
can help you get out! Just tell me where the keys are!"
The unfortunate lizard man snores loudly and rolls over, revealing a key on a chain around his neck.
That's funny, wouldn't someone with the key prefer to nap outside the cell?

"Wake up! I've got the information to bring the whole place down and get both of us out of here! It
was Tad all along! He was just fueling Charles' fantasies to keep him busy while-"

The lizard man has by now awoken, but rather than rushing towards the cell door to be rescued he
recoils from you, his eyes wide and staring just past your shoulder.

As you start to turn, the odor of burning rubber assaults you. How you missed the racket of that
gorilla lumbering towards you is a bit puzzling, as are the black and white stripes dyed into the fur on
his back. Ultimately neither are of much consequence, as he is quite intent on becoming close friends
with you and your ribcage just wasn't built to stand up to a hug like that.

On the verge of vindicating yourself, you are utterly and thoroughly dead.

Page 100 (The Saurus)

Thinking over the day you've had, you feel a sense of evil permeating you. You've been put in some
extremely difficult situations, sure, but the big guy upstairs isn't going to look too fondly on sacrificing
a Chinese gentleman to ferocious wolves and attempting to use an army of dangerous genetically-
modified creatures to attack the local peasants. It's time for you to boost your karma ratings again,
and there's only one way you can see to do it.

Gently lifting the creature onto your back, you wrap his arms around your neck and grimace. He's not
particularly heavy, but your low-protein diet has left you with little in the way of muscles and you
struggle up the stairs as you drag his ankles behind you. Not to mention faux-snakeskin always gives
you a rash, you grumble to yourself.

Opening the door of the kitchen, you startle the Beaumont family cook who drops the apple he was
in the process of forcing into a pig orifice. "I've been preparing that lizardman surprise for Tad's
wedding for WEEKS!" screams the cook, furious. Dropping the lizardman (karma has its limits), you
sprint between the long wooden counters towards the double doors that beckon towards freedom -
but it is too late. The cook, as per usual in these situations, is an excellent knife thrower and catches
you square in the back of the neck with a well-thrown cleaver.

You quickly succumb to the pain and blood-loss from this cliched wound, and end up as a serving of
Coq au Vamp several days later at the Beaumonts celebratory victory-supper, followed by badger-
flavoured ice cream. Fortunately, your actions did net you enough brownie points with the almighty
that your soul (See, you really WEREN'T a vampire) heads straight to purgatory, and after a short wait
of 2800 years you enter the gates of Paradise only a little the worse for wear.

You have died. Please return to the last page or start again from the beginning.

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