Room the last

THE CRYPT

Under the house, under the mere, under everything the family wrote down. The air is as it was in 1893.

Carved above the altar, legible by your own light

The inscription

"HERE THE HOUSE KEEPS WHAT IT TAKES. FIRST BRING THE LIGHT, THEN THE KEY THAT KEPT THE DOOR, LAST THE KEEPSAKE OF HER NAME. IN THAT ORDER AND NO OTHER, THAT THE ONE WHO HOLDS THEM MAY BE COUNTED, AND ANSWERED."

Below, in smaller characters, worn shallow:

"ANSWER THE STONE WHAT IT HOLDS, AND IT WILL EMPTY ITS HANDS."

The altar stone, worn hollow in three places

Lay your findings down

Choose a place, then choose what from your satchel belongs there. The inscription is strict about the order — and the stone is strict about everything.

A translucent woman, serene, dissolving from the waist down into pale light — She stands between the candle and the bowl, and she is looking at the hand at the edge of the altar.

The stone's only question

Name what the house keeps

All these years the parish believed the dead took him. Read the ground before you answer: the alcove that was never cut, the hand still resting on the altar, the confession in the safe. Whose body lies upon the altar?