in the archives

//How did I get talked into this?//(set:$familiars=(a:)) You find yourself asking this question a lot when you hang out with Wren Glacey, the quirky out-of-towner who is positively //obsessed// with the paranormal. Not only has Wren claimed to have experienced an alien abduction (complete with probing), but she professes a full-fledged belief in ghosts, cryptids, and all things mysterious. Each time she meets you, she's onto some new lead into a government coverup or an unusual sighting, and the adventure often ends the same way. Nevertheless, here you are: standing at the entrance of the creepy downstairs archives in the Puttsdale Library, about to go ghost-hunting. Maybe Wren has officially convinced you that there //is// something weird going on in Puttsdale (besides the usual weirdness), or maybe you just like her company despite yourself -- she is pretty funny, not to mention cute. Her eyes are gray like an overcast sky, and her hair is dusty-blonde. She wears jeans (or, as in today, a snug pair of jean shorts) and sweatshirts, and her outfit is always completed by her red converse sneakers. Wren is flicking the light switch up and down futilely -- the dark stairway before you stays black. "Libby Martine said no one's been down here in years," she muses (Libby is the librarian), "and I guess no one's changed the lightbulbs." If you thought this meant the excursion would be called off, you were sorely mistaken. Wren takes a flashlight from her back pocket and, before you can say, "Hang on a second --" she's heading down the steps. [[CONTINUE|title]](set:$inventory=(a:))

==><== ##ANNA ROUNDBOTTOM: THE GHOST OF THE LIBRARY ARCHIVES a mini-game by Waferborn [[BEGIN|begin]] <==

As you are flipping through the archive, an article catches your eye. It's been clipped from its newspaper with a [[photo of a young woman|photo of anna]]. You pull it out and skim the page before calling Wren over to see. She trots to you and looks over your shoulder as you read the curious article together. ###ANNA ROUNDBOTTOM ELECTED 1ST PUTTSDALE DISCIPLINEE **by Thomas Harding Votes were tallied in city hall yesterday for the first ever election of an official Puttsdale Disciplinee, a position that detractors have called a "spanking scapegoat." The (un)lucky winner was Anna Roundbottom, 19, whose hijinks around town have made her quite famous in our community. "Only problem is she causes most of the trouble, anyhow," one city council member noted with amusement. "She hardly ever doesn't have a red bottom anyway!" The mayor explained that the idea for electing a town disciplinee came from a concerned youth, but he would not reveal their identity. Some of the townspeople, however, are concerned that having a designated Puttsdale Disciplinee will actually encourage more mischief, since miscreants will know that Anna will be receiving the punishment. This reporter had a chance to speak with Anna Roundbottom herself, who had this to say: "It's not fair! You can't spank me for something I didn't even do -- and I'm 19, not a kid!" This argument has been largely dismissed.** "I've heard of this," Wren says in a low voice. "A few decades ago, Puttsdale had one person take the spankings for every crime in the town!" You wrinkle your nose. "That's crazy! So one person is getting punished for something they didn't do?"(set:$disciplinee="known")(replace:?exit)[ [[Continue|encounter]]] Wren shrugs. "Different time, I guess."(set:$1st=1) You both return to researching, Wren going back to the row she was in before. Still, you can't get the thought of poor Anna ought of your mind. //The town Disciplinee//...you can only imagine how she must have felt about that!

You come across an article that stops you dead in your tracks. You see the name first -- Anna Roundbottom -- and remember the story about the town Disciplinee. ###SENIOR PRANK PROMPTS A PARADE OF PUNISHMENT ####Anna Roundbottom Speaks Out on the Spanking of a Lifetime by Dean Sampson(set:$2nd=1) **It’s a scene none of us will ever forget. June 11th: the day of the Annual Puttsdale Welcome-to-Summer Parade, the first day of vacation for all students and one of the most beautiful weather days of the year. Everyone had gathered Uptown to enjoy free lemonade, fair food, and the sights. And did we ever get //sights//! This previous week, the graduated class of Puttsdale High played a now-infamous prank: four pigs were released inside the school building, each with a number painted on its back. (The search for pig number 2 is still underway as I am writing this. If anyone has any tips, please call the tip-line!) The town council decided that the punishment would be incorporated into the parade. By that morning, news had gotten out: 19-year-old Anna Roundbottom, the official town Disciplinee and recepient of all discipline for that month of June, would be receiving a barebottom spanking on a blue and white parade float. Every person in the town turned out to see – and I do mean //every//one. This reporter is no exception! Lemonade and kettlecorn in hand, we watched with eager anticipation as the Puttsdale Disciplinee float rounded the corner onto Main Street. I had the chance to speak to our town's Disciplinee just this morning as she was continuing to ice her beleagered behind. "My a-er, //butt// has never felt so hot from just a hand before – I swear to G...erm, I //swear// that you could have fried bacon on it," she says, careful to avoid the sort of profanities that would not be fit to print...and might provoke a second dose of discipline! "And just when I thought I was done, he takes out this little paddle – oh, god, I could hardly //think// straight." When asked if being barebottom in front of a gathered crowd added to the effectieness of the punishment, Anna was direct. "Obviously!" she exclaimed. "You think I wanted everyone to see all of that?!" In one final question, this reporter inquired as to the skill of her spanker, local grocer Henry Dievs. She was emphatic in her response: YES, Henry did the town proud! "That guy ought to start a business or something," she adds, somewhat ruefully rubbing her heinie. And there you have it, folks! After the success of this year's parade, some have suggested making the barebottom spanking float an annual event. You can be sure this reporter will be there next year to bring the news!** You lower the paper, staring off into space. "Wren," you say finally. "I-I think you might want to see this one." After Wren reads the paper, her eyes are wide and her eyebrows practically leaping off her face. There’s a faint blush in her cheeks as she returns the paper to the file, but her voice is steady and sure. "We’re getting closer," she says. "Keep an eye out, because I have a feeling that ghost is coming again soon!"(replace:?exit)[ [[Continue|encounter]]]

(if:$part_1 is "read")[You’re searching valiantly when your eye alights on a continuation of the article you were reading before: "FORMER PUTTSDALE DISCIPLINEE PRAISES" starring Anna Roundbottom. You quickly pull it out and read. CONTINUED FROM B1 **may surpise you. "Oh, absolutely," she told this reporter. "I would fully support the program coming back. And I could think of a few young people who might benefit from the role!" She goes on to explain that she wasn’t always in favor of the Disciplinee Program – not by a long shot. Understandably, she resented being spanked for her friends’ mischeif and the bad behavior of her classmates. "But then I realized," she said, "how much of that behavior was actually in my control! See, I was one of the popular girls. All of the disciplinees were popular, girls and boys alike. People would look to us for an example. And when I was setting a good example, the whole town benefited." When I asked what she thought of the spankings themselves, she got a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I complained and complained. But they weren’t always so bad," she says with a laugh. "It depended on who was giving them." Judging from photographs of the local grocer, Henry Dievs, in his youth, this reporter thinks she can catch Anna’s meaning. There is only one question that remains, and it’s one that Anna still says she doesn’t know the answer to: who is it who pulled the infamous Senior prank that resulted in the "Float Spanking" on the Welcome-to-Summer parade? "Oh, I still have no idea who set those three little pigs free," Anna says with a laugh. "And I knew all the troublemakers who would do that – I was one of them after all!" She shrugs. "I guess that one will always be a mystery. It isn’t likely the program will return to Puttsdale anytime soon, but Anna Roundbottom says this Disciplinee isn’t going anywhere. Rumors that she is moving after the sale of her bakery is finalized are false. "There’s no better place to live than Puttsdale," she says seriously. "I’m staying right here."**(set:$part_2="read") (if:$encounter>0)[//She had that much right,// you think. ]You fold the continuation and place it where you took it from, thoughts still racing. "Whatcha got there?" You practically just out of your skin as Wren steps up behind you unannounced. Paying no mind to the scare she's just given you, Wren leans in to read over your shoulder, snapping her gum as she does. She gives her gum one final, thoughtful //snap//, and her eyes go wide. "What?" you say. "What's the matter?" She takes the paper from your hands and reads with it an inch from her nose. "How many pigs were released in Puttsdale High School for the Senior prank?" she says. "Um..." you think back to the prior article. "...Four, I think." Wren lowers the paper and shakes her head at you. "No," she says. "Look here: Anna says there were //three//." You look again. It's true: Anna //does// say there were three. "So?" you say. "What's your point?" "It's brilliant!" Wren exclaims. She looks to you expectantly. "Don't you get it? The pranksters painted numbers on the pigs -- 1, 3, and 4 -- so that people would think there were four pigs. That's why they were still searching for pig #2!" You blink, letting the explanation sink in. "Ohhhhh," you say. "...that IS pretty clever. And they were Henry Diev's pigs, so he would have been in on it! He could have just said he was missing four and kept them searching forever!" You laugh, then stop abruptly. "But...how did Anna know?" Wren licks her lips, aglow with the anticipation. "There's only one way she would have known for sure," she says. "And that's..." You say in unison: "If she was in on it too!" Just then, you both hear a loud noise from behind the filing cabinets. You gasp together, meeting eyes. Neither of you speaks. But you both know exactly what you need to do.(replace:?exit)[ [[Investigate the noise|encounter 3]]]](else:)[Your eye catches on the word //Disciplinee// in the headline, and you yank the article out. The picture is of a middle-aged woman, perhaps early forties, with a shock of platinum white in her long dark hair. She’s wearing a polka-dotted dress with no stockings and a smirk. Despite the age and new hairstyle, it only takes you a moment to realize it’s Anna Roundbottom. ###FORMER PUTTSDALE DISCIPLINEE PRAISES PROGRAM **Anna Roundbottom, 59,** – (//Oh, jeez,// you think, //she’s aged well//.) -- **is a fixture in Puttsdale. Not only did she run the local bakery until its recent sale to Marvin Sly, but she’s also a leading member of the Parent Teacher Association and a frequent guest speaker at the summer festival. Known and beloved for her quick wit, her effortless charm, and her commitment to this community,** – (//Sounds like she really turned things around...//.) -- **is Roundbottom is recognized by every Puttsdale local as the lovely embodiment of our lovely town! What some might not know is that Anna Roundbottom was part of an infamous Puttsdale program started in the 1920s called the "Town Disciplinee Program." Under this program, a single elected resident of Puttsdale would receive all spankings for any rule-breaking! Anna was the 1st of these disciplinees and served the longest in the role: a total of four months, spread out over six separate holdings. While it might seem unfair and wrong-headed to us today, Anna says the program did her and her disciplinee peers a lot of good! "I went from mischief-maker to model citizen," she laughs. "Following people around to make sure they behaved. After all, it was my butt on the line!" Ask Anna Roundbottom if she thinks the program should return, and her answer **(set:$part_1="read") CONTINUED ON B4 The article cuts off there. You’ll have to find the rest of the paper to hear her response.]

(if:$success is 1)[Anna Roundbottom floats down and lands on the floor. A change seems to take place in her -- her colors become more vibrant, more real. Her face blushes even, as it did in life. "M-may I -- um," she begins, not meeting your eyes. You motion to Wren for a chair in the corner of the archives, and she brings it to you quickly. When Anna Roundbottom looks into your face, her bright eyes are twinkling. "Would you...give me a spanking?" You smile kindly at her and sit in the chair Wren sets out. "Over my lap, Anna." Timidly, Anna Roundbottom tucks a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear and comes to you with small steps. She climbs over your lap slowly, and when you feel her weight on you, it's a //real// weight, as solid as any living girl. She arches her back and raises her pleasantly shaped bottom, which you're pleased to note is //also// quite solid. She glances up at you over her shoulder, for the first time looking anxious, and also genuinely excited. "Alright, Anna Roundbottom," you say. "You aren't getting this spanking because of some other townperson's misbehavior. This punishment isn't for anyone else. It's only for //you//." Anna titters -- it's a nervous laugh, but a happy one. You lift her skirt and draw down her panties, and she shivers but doesn't protest. You raise your hand...and you bring it down. With that solid, echoing //PHWAP!// against Anna's right butt cheek, the best spanking of her life -- or afterlife -- begins. You spank Anna hard, alternating between her round white buttocks and covering ever inch, down to her upper-middle thigh and up to the topmost part of the cleft between her cheeks. She cries out at first, wincing and hissing as the heat builds. Then she purrs and moans as the pinkness spreads. Wren watches on, fascinated, chewing her nails, as you spank Anna Roundbottom into a blissful state of ecstacy and pain, and she starts to writhe gently and kick up her bare feet with each swat. //PHLAP! WHAP! FWAP!// goes your hand against her rear, and her bottom dances happily as she sways, rolling on your knee. She bites her lip and makes a deep noise of pleasure as a particularly successful //clap// takes her on an already stinging cheek. "Mmmph!" She waggles her bottom and drops her head, really panting now, her breath coming in fast, deep gasps. //FWACK! FWAP! WAP! WAP! WAP!// You pepper her bottom with hard swats until she reaches between her thighs, shifting her body and hikingup her skirt so that even more of her alabaster-white lower half is visible, even as each of her butt cheeks begins to take on a bright red shade, as start as the color of her dress. "Oh!" she cries out as another spank //pops// against her backside. Her eyes go wide. "Oh! Ohhhhh //OH!//" Her foot kicks up, and you increase your speed, striking hard and fast in rhythm with the twisting of Anna's waist. Her plump buttocks ripple and roil as she shakes and shudders on your lap, moaning and squealing and finally crying out: "OoooooOOO! AaAAHAHAHA//HAHA//!" Her legs stretch out behind her stiff, and her head jerks back. Her eyes cross and her mouth opens in a mindless grin. "Yesss!" she exclaims as the orgasm rolls through her, starting at her pelvis and wrapping around her backside, pulsating and filling every inch of her. She begins to glow on your lap, and not just in her face and cheeks -- to //really// glow, a bright white light that encompasses her entire form and hurts your eyes. You and Wren both raise your arms to cover your eyes... And when you look back down, she's gone. But a faint, drifting laugh is still wafting through the archives. Not the fearsome, wicked laugh from before. A laugh that is bright and happy and free. Anna Roundbottom is //free//. [[Continue|good ending]]]{ }(else-if:$success is 0)[The ghost of Anna Roundbottom steps out of the shadows and looks you both up and down. You draw in your breath sharply, and you feel Wren do the same. There's a smirk on Anna's face, and her head is held high. She's just as pretty as she was in life -- prettier, even, than the photo you saw. Now she sucks her teeth, then tuts softly to herself. “**No, no, no. This won’t do at all.**” Fixing you with a malevolent grin, she raises her hand and snaps her fingers. You cry out as you feel a tug on your clothes, and you hear Wren cry out with equal panic beside you. Wren’s over-stretched panties go taut behind her as though about to wedgie her again, but instead of pulling upwards they fly //out// and vanish completely. Her jean shorts fall to the floor and disappear, and her hoodie lifts up, causing her to stagger forward. It slides off her arms as though it were being sucked into a black hole, then it’s gone. Your own clothes follow suit. Unsure of what to cover, you clasp your hands over your chest, then your privates, then your bottom, standing in the cold archives stark naked and suddenly wanting very much to tell Wren and her crazy paranormal investigations to //go to hell.// But it’s far too late for that, now. "I thought you said poltergeists weren’t that strong!" you say. "I did!" Wren says, eyes wide with panic now. "And they aren’t! But this isn’t a poltergiest – i-it’s a //manifestation//!" "And what does //that// mean?" "It means this is //actually// Anna Roundbottom, and we’re –" Anna cuts her off just as you both feel a hand against your backs force you forward. "I think that’s quite enough talking from the trespassers," she says cooly. Her voice has become normal now in its tenor, no longer echoing – Anna Roundbottom is fully formed in the present age now, solid and in the room. Her tone is acid as she adds: "Save your voices for counting." She smirks at you both and steps around the file cabinet. "Now, seeing as we don’t have a desk for you to bend over, we’ll have to make do." She snaps her fingers again, and you and Wren both squeal as you’re launched over the drawer, your arms pinned down by invisible tendrils, your hips together with Wren’s, goosepimpling as your bare flesh touches hers. You and Wren look at each other in terror. "Alright, disciplinees," Anna says. You can no longer see her, as you’re pinned down over the drawer no matter how hard you struggle. Still, you can hear the grin in her voice and the confidence in her footfalls. //Anna Roundbottom was town Disciplinee,// you think, //and now she’s at the other side of a paddle.// You swallow hard. //She’s not going to waste this chance.// "I want you both to count your swats, nice loud ‘//Thank you, ma’am!//’ for me, mm?" You hear the air being displaced as she gives the paddle a practice swing. You hear Wren whimper softly. "And what are you being spanked for?" Anna says. There’s a brief silence. Then, Wren’s tremulous voice: "T-tresspassing, ma’am." You cut her a hard glance. She shrugs with a //Well, what are we supposed to do?!// look. "Very good. Now, since //you// know what you did wrong," she says to Wren, turning slowly, "...I’m going to start with your //friend// here. Just to be sure we’re //all// on the same page." Your blood runs cold. You bite your lip, and despite the chilliness of being naked in the library basement, you feel a bead of sweat on your forehead trace back behind your ear. You’re about to mutter a curse when – //FWACK!// Like a thunderclap, complete with white hot lightning, the first stroke of the paddle lands on your pale bottom, cheek-to-cheek, with such heavy precision that you’re entire bottom feels the blossoming pain as soon as the paddle pulls away. Your head lurches up and your cry out at the top of your lungs: "Gaaaaahahaah!" You drop your head as the currents of pain spread and fade. You feel Wren’s breath tickle your face. "Does it hurt?" she asks. You look at her sharply, lips pursed. She wilts. "...thought so," she says. "What do we saaa//aaay//?" the vengeful spirit says behind you. You can hear the glee in her voice practically spilling over. You realize that a part of you has always felt sorry for ghosts – unable to shake this mortal coil, doomed to a shadow of life. You don’t feel very sorry for them any more. Not for //this// ghost, anyway. //FWACK!// "Aaaahahaha!" "Now, see that one doesn’t count," the ghost of Anna Roundbottom says, hoisting the paddle over her shoulder, "because you didn’t give the count of the first one yet. See how this works?" You grit your teeth, feeling your calf spasm as you try, unsuccessfully, to clench the pain out of your backside. "//One//," you say at last. "...is that all?" You cut another hard glance at Wren and find, to your extreme annoyance, that she’s mouthing the words out to you as though you’d forgotten them. You hadn’t. "//Thank you,// ma’am." You glare at your partner-in-spanking, trying to convey to her just how very //unthankful// you’re actually feeling in this moment. [[Continue|bad ending]]]

##**1804-1900 ARCHIVE** (set:$row_1=$row_1+1)The row furthest to the left is marked with the first placard that Wren wiped off: it contains all the surviving articles from the 1800s. (unless:$familiars contains"row 1")[Since Puttsdale was established as a municipal township in 1804 (then redeclared after Minnesota officially became a state), these newspaper archives go back to the start of the 19th century. You pull out a cabinet and are immediately showered in dust. Coughing, you flip through the folders at arms length. The papers are yellowed and the print is small -- there's a magnifying glass to help you read the clippings, which are organized by date in the long filing drawers.(set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"row 1"))] [Search]<search|(click-replace:?search)[{ }(if:$row_1 is 1)[(display:"article 1 - Cattle THIEVES")]{ }(else-if:$row_1 is 2)[(display:"article 2 - Letter to the Editor")]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]][ [[Continue|rows]]]<exit|

##**1901-1920 ARCHIVE** (set:$row_2=$row_2+1)(unless:$familiars contains "row 2")[By the start of the 20th century, Puttsdale actually had two competing newspapers run by local volunteers, one for reporting official business and the other mosty for gossip. As a result, there are a lot more papers from the 1900s -- now every two decades gets a full row. ](set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"row 2"))The papers from 1901 to 1920 are in good condition, and they contain quite a few eye-catching photographs, mostly portrait shots. (unless:$familiars contains "row 2")[You find the search in this row is interesting and moves pretty fast.] [Search]<search|(click-replace:?search)[{ }(if:$row_2 is 1)[(display:"first article")(set:$research=1)]{ }(else-if:$row_2 is 2)[(display:"article 2 - Advertisement")]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]][ [[Continue|rows]]]<exit|

##**1921-1940 ARCHIVE** (set:$row_3=$row_3+1)Many of the clippings from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s, are in excellent condition. (unless:$familiars contains "row 3")[//These papers are from when my grandparents were teens,// you think. It does seem at first glance that life is very different -- but some things in Puttsdale simply never change.(set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"row 3"))] [Search]<search|(click-replace:?search)[{  }(if:$row_3 is 1)[(display:"article 1 - Detention Chairs")]{  }(else-if:$row_3 is 2)[{ }(unless:$disguise is 1)[{ }(if:$1st is 1)[(display:"disguise")]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]]{  }(else:)[(display:"search")]][ [[Continue|rows]]]<exit|

##**1941-1960 ARCHIVE** (set:$row_4=$row_4+1)The 40s and 50s seem as good a place as any to search for clues about a ghost(unless:$familiars contains "row 4")[ -- this whole town seems to be stuck in the middle of the century, anyway. You start thumbing through newspapers, stopping whenever something catches your eye(set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"row 4"))]. [Search]<search|(click-replace:?search)[{ }(if:$row_4 is 1)[(display:"article 1 - Mayor Spanked")]{ }(else-if:$row_4 is 2)[(if:$research is 1)[(display:"second article")(set:$research=2)](else:)[(display:"search")]]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]][ [[Continue|rows]]]<exit|

##**1961-1980 ARCHIVE** (set:$row_5=$row_5+1)The 60s and 70s were rebellious decades for young people all over the United States, and Puttsdale was no exception. (unless:$familiars contains "row 5")[Teens in Puttsdale did their fair share of smoking pot, making free love, listening to hippie music, and all the rest...but the consequences were different. Many of these papers actually contain color photographs, which makes this section even more interesting to look at. You really could stay here a long time.(set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"row 5"))] [Search]<search|(click-replace:?search)[{  }(if:$row_5 is 1)[(display:"article 1 - Brave New World")]{  }(else-if:$row_5 is 2)[{ }(if:$research is 2)[(display:"third article")](else:)[(display:"search")]]{  }(else:)[{  }(if:$microwave_article is 0)[(display:"article 2 - Microwaves")]{ }(else:)[{  }(if:$research is 2)[(display:"third article")]{ }(else:)[(display:"search")]]]][ [[Continue|rows]]]<exit|

(set:$player="bared")You sigh. (if:$disguise is 1)[You glance over your shoulder at the back of the dress. "How am I even suppose to do that with this thing?" "Oh, that's easy," Wren says. She takes the hem of the skirt and lifts it, causing you to squeak with embarrassment as your bottom is exposed. She then takes a loop of fabric between your shoulderblades and ties it easily to a string on the hem. "This is what this dress was made for, after all. Now you just need to take your undies down." There's a bow on your back now, and the seat of your dress is lifted off your bottom. Feeling like a giftwrapped present](else:)[Unzipping and unbuttoning your pants], you slide your underwear down and grumble at ghost-hunting being more than you signed up for. "Too late for all that now," Wren says cheerfully. "We're almost at the heart of this thing -- I can //feel// it!" All you're feeling is a draft. But as Wren, half-naked and jittering with excitement, returns to her work, you begrudgingly do the same.

You're flipping through the stack when suddenly you spy a brown package tied with twine. You take it out and find that it's soft and unaged, unlike the yellowing passages of Puttsdale yesterday. "Hey...Wren, what's this?" Wren comes to your side immediately and looks over your shoulder as you pull the string. The package opens with no resistance. The packing paper folds back to reveal -- "A...dress?" you say. "Looks old-fashioned," Wren says as you lift it from the package. And she's right. The dress has frills at the shoulders and a modest neckline. The skirt is knee-length -- but strangely shorter in the back than in the front. "It's not...//ugly//," you remark. The fabric is dark, a navy blue that's almost black, with a pink and yellow floral pattern. As far as old-fashioned clothing goes, this dress is -- //What would they say in the old days?// -- ...fetching. As the realization hits her, Wren claps her hand hard on your shoulder, and you wince. "The disciplinee!" she shouts. Then, pointing frantically at the raised back hem, she adds. "This was they dress she wore -- it's the official garment of the Puttsdale disciplinee! The person who took all the spankings for the town!" You start back, blinking. "Really?" you say. It's a pretty dress -- formal, and yet not in the least bit stuffy. It even smells fresh. "I'm sure," Wren says, nodding sternly. "And I'm also pretty sure that the ghost of the archives //wants you to put it on.//" [[Put on the dress]<put_on| [Refuse]<refuse|]<decision|{ }(click:?put_on)[(replace:?decision)[You look from Wren to the skirt, then back to Wren. "Put it...on?"(set:$disguise=1) Wren nods sagely. "I don't know for sure," she says, "but everything I'm seeing here suggests that we're dealing with a //poltergeist//." "Poltergeist? Like the movie?" "Sort of. Basically, a poltergiest is a mischevious spirit -- not super high up in the hierarchy of paranormal phenomena. They usually have pretty set limitations on their powers. Like, for instance, they can't harm you if you're wearing a certain set of clothes." You look back at the dress dubiously. "I...I don't know..." Wren steps forward. "Don't worry," she says, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I won't look." You frown at the dress once more...then begin to strip down to your underwear as Wren stands with her back to you (although you could swear you see her peeking from the corner of your eye). Once it's on, you smooth it down over your lap and find, to your surprise, that it's actually a perfect fit. Wren grins and her eyes light up when she sees you wearing it. A playful smirk bolts across her face and she says, "Give us a spin!" "But what are //you// going to wear?" you ask finally. "Maybe the dress will protect me, but what about you?" "Oh, don't worry about me," Wren says, waving her hand. "I've dealt with poltergeists before. Smart-ass little bastards -- nothing too bad, though." You nod, although you're still feeling a bit unconvinced. "Alright then," Wren declares, "back to the search!]]{ }(click:?refuse)[(replace:?decision)["What?!" you exclaim shrilly. "No way! I'm not putting that thing on -- who //knows// where it's been!" "It's //been// in this package, probably waiting for you for decades," Wren says, shaking the torn packaging for effect. "Trust me, (print:$name), there aren't any coincidences in ghost-hunting. If you find something like this, it's probably for a //reason//." "Nuh-uh. No way," you say. "//You// wear it." Wren shakes her head. "Too small in the hips. I can tell just by looking at it. And I've had //enough// of a wedgie for one day." You snort. Wren shrugs. "Oh, well. If you don't want to wear it, that's fine. But don't get mad at me if it turns out to be the key to beating the poltergeist." "Poltergeist? Like the movie?" "Sort of. Basically, a poltergiest is a mischevious spirit -- not super high up in the hierarchy of paranormal phenomena. They usually have pretty set limitations on their powers. Like, for instance, they can't harm you if you're wearing a certain set of clothes." Then she shrugs again and turns away. "Alright then. Back to the search!"]]

You trail close behind Wren as she leads you down the steps. Luckily, a light switch at the bottom actually works, and the yellowy flurescents flicker to life, revealing row upon row of filing cabinets taller than you are with cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling. Wren gazes around in appreciation. "The Puttsdale Archives," she says, her voice low with wonder. She tucks the flashlight back into her pocket. "I've been meaning to get down here for months. Libby wouldn't bother opening them for just one person...I think she just thinks I'd try to take something." "You //did// take the newest //Proclamation// book without checking it out, though, didn't you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. You remember her telling you about a time she walked out with her nose in the latest of her favorite sci-fi series, completely obvious to Libby at the counter. Wren blushes. "I just forgot!" She sighs. "And besides, I got my butt beaten for that already, so she can't hold it against me anymore." "Why did you even want to come here?" you say, looking around the dusty old room and wrinkling your nose. "Couldn't you just look up old newspaper articles on the computer?" Wren reaches out to touch a placard beside the first shelf, brushing away a thick coat of dust. "Most of these articles were never digitized. But we aren't just here for the articles." "We're not?" "No," Wren says simply. She peers down the first row -- over her shoulder, you can now read that the placard reads, //1804-1900//. "We're here because this place is haunted, and we're going to find the ghost." [[Continue|rows]]

(unless:$familiars contains "rows")["Haunted?!" you cry. "You didn't tell me that!" She shrugs and gives you a bashful grin. "I thought you'd wuss out." You shut your mouth at this, because you know she might be right. "Besides, I don't //know// that it's haunted. I've just heard rumors. Strange noises, apparitions -- that kind of thing. That's really why no one goes into the archives anymore, and it's why they stopped digitizing. But I figured I had to see it for myself." //Of course you did,// you think, rolling your eyes. "Well, alright, fine. So we're here to see a ghost. How are we supposed to find it?" Wren pulls out a file and becomes absorbed in thumbing through papers. "Immaterial presences are the result of a unresolved matters in the material world. That means every ghost exists because of something they //didn't// get done while they were alive." She doesn't look up as she replies, speaking as though this were all very obvious. "Whether it's vengeance or treasure-guarding, every ghost has a task -- so if there //is// a ghost here, it's trying to do //something.// And we're going to figure out what that seomthing is." "How?"(set:$familiars=$familiars+(a:"rows")) She pulls out a newspaper and holds the faded print up to the light. "The old-fashioned way," she explains. "//Research//." ](if:$return is 1)["Fuck me," Wren grumbles, trying and failing to tuck her stretched panties into her jeans. "If I’d seen //that// coming, these would’ve been the //last// pair of panties I’d have worn." As intrigued as you are in Wren’s underwear-selection process, you’re more concerned with the fact of your first ever paranormal encounter. "You’re //sure// it was Anna Roundbottom?" you say. "I’m sure," Wren nods solemnly. "An apparition of her, at least." "So there really //are// such a thing as ghosts?" (set:$return=0) "Oh yes," Wren says. Then she winces and touches her tender behind. "I’ve got the proof right here. But it’s actually good news," she adds, brightening, "because it means we’re on to something. Whatever it is that’s down here, someone – maybe Anna herself – doesn’t want us to find it. They’ll try all sorts of stuff to stop it." "And we’re...going to keep looking for it?" Wren grins at you. "You bet your ass we are." You can’t help but grimace. //I think we literally have...// Before you can say another word, Wren has returned to the search. ]You turn to look back at the daunting rows of file cabinets. Each row is labelled with a placard categorizing the articles by the years they were written. Wren is busily flitting from row to row, pulling out papers willy-nilly. You are on your own. What would you like to research? [[1800s|1800-1900 row]] [[1901-1921|1901-1920 row]] [[1921-1940|1921-1940 row]] [[1941-1960|1941-1960 row]] [[1961-1980|1961-1980 row]]

(set:$chance=(random:1,7)){  }(if:$chance is 1)[(unless:$disguise is 1)[(if:$1st is 1)[(display:"disguise")](else:)[Nothing really catches your eye. "Owch!" you hear, as Wren bumps her head on an open cabinet. "I'm fine!" she says before diving back in. You roll your eyes.]](else:)[Nothing really catches your eye. "Owch!" you hear, as Wren bumps her head on an open cabinet. "I'm fine!" she says before diving back in. You roll your eyes.]]{  }(if:$chance is 2)[(unless:$inventory contains "paddle")[You hear a heavy //thunk// as you're moving the file. Wren, who happens to be beside you, comes close to look over your shoulder at what you've found. "A paddle," she says in a whisper. And a fine one, too -- finished oak, rounded edges, light enough to swing and heavy enough to smart. "Keep that. Could be useful" Wren says simply. You open your mouth to respond, but she's already on her way to another file. You look at the paddle in your hands and blink stupidly. //Well,// you think, //I guess you never know when you might need one of these...(set:$inventory=$inventory+(a:"paddle"))](else:)[You come up empty. "Keep looking," Wren calls out to you from deep inside a file cabinet, her (if:$player is "bared")[naked] bottom waggling at you as she searches. "We're on to something, I can feel it!"]]{ }(if:$chance is 3)[You continue to search, but none of the articles grabs your attention.]{ }(if:$chance is 4)[Nothing much here...it's mostly just a regular small town newspaper...]{ }(if:$chance is 5)[Bupkiss. You're about to tell Wren you think it's time to give up, but she's gotten herself halfway hoisted into a file cabinet. //Maybe I'll just try a different row...//]{ }(if:$chance is 6)[You find yourself sidetracked by a fascinating advice column all about implement suggestions -- but it isn't getting you any closer to understanding this place.]{ }(if:$chance is 7)[(display:"encounter")]

{(set:$encounter=$encounter+1) }(if:$encounter is 1)[(display:"encounter 1")]{ }(else-if:$encounter is 2)[(display:"encounter 2")]{ }(else-if:$encounter is 3)[(display:"encounter 3")]{ }(else:)[(display:"game over")]

A brief article hails a "BRAVE NEW WORLD OF DISCIPLINE," and you recognize the squat building pictured in the photograph as Perkins Labs. The reporter can't say much about his visit to the "state-of-the-art facility" on account of clearance issues, but it's fairly clear from the writing that he was given a comprehensive tour. **"The research being done at Perkins Labs represents a bold and innovative approach to domestic and social life. Get ready to stand and face the future, Puttsdale! We will //not// be sitting."**

Anna Roundbottom is a petit girl, but she lives up to her name. In the photo, she's pouting at the camera with her back turned, her prodigious bottom on display. Her hair is long and dark, and her eyes -- even in black and white -- are startlingly bright. She reminds you of someone...but you can't say //who//... Beneath the photo is an inscription that says, "**ANNA ROUNDBOTTOM PREPARES FOR A SPANKING AS TOWN DISCIPLINEE.**" [[Back to the article|first article]]

You have your nose deep in the archives when your concentration is broken by a shrill cry from the other side of the filing cabinets. "AaaaA//HAOW//!!" The shriek is followed by a quick (but suitably loud) tearing noise, like a piece of courdoroy fabric being ripped in half. You hear a scuffle of footsteps and girlish laughter as you jump back from the files and race to the other row to find Wren standing on one foot, arms flailing, the waistband of her underpants slung around her head. Wren’s wedgie is as deep and unforgiving as it is revealing. Her underwear is white with the words I WANT TO BELIEVE written across the back, although in its current, tautly drawn state it looks more like: ==><== **IWNTO BLVE** <== Her back is arched and her head is back, the waistband tightening against her forehead even as it digs mercilessly between her butt cheeks. She hops around for a moment and you can hear the elastic protest again. Her jean shorts are being pulled down off her rear by the wedgie working further out of her pants, and you catch a glimpse of her pale, moon-white bottom before – "HELP! ME!" Wren says, not without annoyance. You snap out of your trance and lunge forward to take the panties off Wren’s head. To do this, you have to briefly pull her wedgie tighter, and she screams at a pitch only rodents can hear before gasping with relief as the over-stretched panties snap back, still hanging from her pants. Wren is panting, and she puts her hand on the files to steady herself. "What happened?" you say. "I heard laughing – who else is down here?" She shakes her head, still catching her breath. "No...body," she says. "Just...Anna." At first, you don’t understand what she means. You’re about to tell her so when it dawns on you. //Anna Roundbottom.// The troublemaker Puttsdale elected as the disciplinee. Wren looks at you with wide eyes. She’s not afraid, though. In spite of the harrowing experience she’s just had –an atomic //that// bad must be one for the journal, even Wren’s – her face is flush with excitement. "I saw her," she says. "I fucking //saw// her. She looked just like the picture!" You feel a chill run down your spine. "You can’t mean..." Wren nods, an actual grin spreading across her face. "The archives are honest-to-God //haunted.//"(set:$return=1) [[Continue|rows]]

All of the sudden you hear a horrible rumbling sound, like a rolling thunderclap, and the lights of the archive flicker and die. You feel Wren grab you, but you can’t see the hand in front of your face. She tries to sound steady, but her voice quivers as she speaks to you. "Wh-wh-what the fuck was that?" "I don’t know," you strain to say, "but you’re squeezing too //tight.//" "You’re squeezing //me// too tight!" Wren replies indignantly. There’s a pause. Silence envelops you both as the realization dawns. "...Wren –" you begin. But the moment the word leaves your lips you’re cut off by a scream, and the flurescent lights buzz wildly as they turn back on. The light now is an eerie emerald green that casts the world into strange and unsettling angles. You no longer feel anything gripping you, and Wren is standing beside you wringing her hands. There’s another sound, this one like the flutter of wings, and both of your heads snap in the direction of the sound. You see a file drawer that has been pulled out to it’s complete length. You see where the sound is coming from now: the articles in the drawer are, completely on their own, launching into the air and flapping around, as though invisible hands were rooting through the papers of Puttsdale past and throwing unwanted articles aside. You look at Wren, you is now biting her nails. "You said this was a //poltergeist//, right?" you say. "And that’s not so bad?" "W-well," Wren quavers as the torrent of papers continues, "a poltergeist //can// throw papers around b-but..." She winces. "I don’t think that’s what’s happening." "You don’t think //what?//" Just as the words leave your lips, a ghostly voice exclaims: "**A-HA!**" The papers stop fluttering, and a single article rises slowly from the drawer. "I think..." Wren says in a small voice. She doesn't finish her thought. The air behind the cabinet seems to vibrate as an apparition begins to take shape. A pair of bright blue eyes, then a smattering of freckles, an upturned nose, followed quickly by the rest of the face, looking down at a slowly appearing hand, connected to a bare arm – pale and ghostly beneath the greenish light – leading to a ruffled sleeve and a shoulder. Standing before you is the unmistakable ghost of Anna Roundbottom, exactly as she appeared in the picture, even wearing the same dress. Her eyes alight on the article that she grips in both hands. "**Took me long enough to find,**" she says, her voice echoing through the generations, "**but I think this should help with our situation!**" She looks up at the two of you, then back down to read. "**Trespassers on library property earn 20 strokes each, barebottom, with paddle.**" She looks back to you both, running up and down your body with her eyes.(if:$inventory contains "paddle")[ "**Ah!**" the ghost declares, her voice sounding giddy. "**You’ve even brought me a paddle – so then you //are// ready for your punishment!" You look to Wren as the heavy paddle flies from her hands and lands on the ghosts outstretched palm. Wren snatches her hands away and folds them, terrified, against her chest.]{ }(else:)[ The ghost holds out her hand, and from somewhere in the endless rows of shelves there comes a clattering sound as a drawer is forced open by a profoundly solidly object wanting to be free. Something dark and heavy flies past your faces and lands with a //thwap// in Anna’s extended hand. It’s a heavy paddle -- finished oak, rounded edges, light enough to swing and heavy enough to smart. ] You and Wren exchange a nervous glance.(if:$disguise is 1)[ Then Anna stops, as though suddenly realizing something. "**What's this?**" she says softly, the echo fading from her voice. "**Are you- Is that...**" She swoops forward without seeming to move her legs. You feel cool air as her fingers brush the hem of your dress. Finally, in a hushed voice, she says: "The outfit of the town Disciplinee?" You look at Wren, who apparently has no idea what to do, because she only shrugs. //Great help you are,// you want to say to the "paranormal investigator." Instead, you just sigh and turn back to Anna. "Yes. That's me." "So," Anna says, a new note of intrigue in her voice. "Does that mean you are willing to take the punishment on both your behalf?" [[Yes]<yes| [No]<no|]<answer|{ }(click:?yes)[(replace:?answer)[You bow your head, resigned to your fate. "Y-yes," you say. Wren gasps. "I'll take the punishment." At first, Anna's expression doesn't change. Then, her pretty face breaks out into a ghastly grin. "//Well// now!" she exclaims. "//This// is going to be //fun!//" (display:"Anna spanks you")]](click:?no)[(replace:?answer)["N-no way!" you cry out, stepping back. The ghost drops her shoulders. "'Pity," she says with a sigh. "I thought I was in the presense of another Spanking Scapegoat." Then she shrugs. "I suppose that means you shouldn't be wearing //that//." She flicks her wrist and snaps, and the dress evaporates off your body like a morning fog, leaving you standing in your underwear. "What the --" you exclaim. "No matter," she goes on. "You're //still// getting your punishment!" A grin spreads across her face. You look at Wren and she looks at you. Both of you have real fear in your eyes. But it's about to get so. Much. Worse. (display:"game over")]] ](else:)[ (display:"game over")]

Anna Roundbottom strides forward weilding her paddle. "Still here?" she says. Looking you right in the eye, she adds: "I could have //sworn// we just learned a lesson about //trespassing//...hm?" She puts her hands on her hips and purses her mouth, but can't help a small smile. "Oh well," she says. "Guess we'll just have to learn the lesson together again!" "Not so fast," you say, stepping forward. Anna blinks, apparently caught off guard. You fold your arms across your chest. "We've figured you out, Anna Roundbottom. We aren't afraid of you anymore." She blinks again, and this time a brief look of concern crosses her expression. She masks it with a mischevious grin. "Oh?" she says. "And just what exactly did you find out?" You turn to Wren, who is looking to you like a child waiting for her parent to take the lead. //Guess it's up to me, then,// you think. "Wren, remember what you said when we first came down here? About ghosts, and why they have to hang around?" you say. Wren looks blankly at you for a moment, then, remembering, stammers an answer. "Oh! Yeah! Ghost phenomena occur because of //unresolved matters// in the material world!" "Right," you say, looking back at Anna. "But what if the thing that's //unresolved// is just something you //want more of?// What if you stay as a ghost because you //didn't get enough// in life to satify you?" "What are you blabbering about?" Anna Roundbottom says crossly. "You were the 'spanking scapegoat,' right? The town disciplinee?" Anna's thin eyebrows knit together, and the lights flicker. "You're damn right I was. Anytime //anyone// did something wrong, it was //my// butt that got spanked!" She sniffs angrily and drags her arm across her eyes, wiping away a ghostly tear. "It was so //unfair!//" "Maybe, yes. But that didn't stop you from bringing spankings //on yourself!//" Anna drops her arm and looks at you, lips parted, eyes wide and intense. "It was you who came up with the idea to release the pigs in Puttsdale High School, wasn't it? And you came up with the idea to number them 1, 3, and 4 -- that's why you knew, years later, that there were only three pigs. You knew a prank like that would get you spanked -- that the punishment would be //huge//, big enough to match the mischief you'd caused -- and you did it anyway, because you //wanted// to be spanked!" You fold your arms triumphantly, and Wren follows suit. "The spanking you got on the parade float -- all of that was you! The town disciplinee program, even: you came up with it yourself, and //you// told the mayor. You were the 'concerned youth' who gave him the idea! You set it all up so you could have the ultimate punishment -- you were loving every second of it!" Anna Roundbottom's face has fallen. Her arms are limp at her sides. Now her eyes dart nervously to and fro, and she drifts backwards without touching the floor. She even appears to be getting smaller. "You..." she says softly, without any of the ghostly might from before. "You...how did you...you know //all// of it..." "That's what you get from good research." You flash Wren a grin, and she returns it readily. "But the thing is, Anna," you continue, you voice softer now. "You didn't //have// to do all of that to get a spanking." You step forward. "See...you could have just //asked//." The ghost of the 1st official Puttsdale Disciplinee looks up at you with dewey eyes. "R-really?" she says timidly. You give her a reassuring smile. "Try it," you say. Wren stands beside you with baited breath.(set:$success=1) [[Continue|game over]]

One article stands out to you as you thumb through the archives. ###CATTLE THIEVES TO BE SPANKED IN VILLAGE SQUARE **An group of cattle hustlers, including the infamous Bad Bessie and her partner-in-crime, Hugo "El Burro" Longhorn, have been captured by the sheriff and will be spanked publically according to town law on Saturday. 10 strokes per offence will leave Bessie walking bowlegged after 120 swats! "Serves them right," one local farmer observed.** You never knew Puttsdale used to be ranching territory, but you have to imagine that outlaws were treated to a healthy dose of punishment...

You only find one article here that catches your eye: ###LETTER TO THE EDITOR **I wanted to add to an article published herein of late on the incorrigible wildness of the youths. I took your advice on tobaccee to heart, so I was looking through my children's belongings for that Satanic weed, when I found in the possession of my one-and-only-daughter a photograph of none other than El Burro! She's just turned 18 and ought to be looking for a husband, and instead she is day-dreaming over some outlaw so-and-so? I could not believe my Christian eyes. I took to spanking my daughter with her father's heavy leather belt against the cowfence, which the neighbors can see from yonder ranch. She kicked and screamed but, in time, my arm grew tired. That's when she started to mess me around: calling out, 'Oh, El Burro, more!' and the like. Ungodly such. But she was put right when her father came home. If El Burro is in any of her day-dreams now, she'll be high-tailing it with her hands over her caboose. Anyway, I got to thinking that the youth might be CONTINUED ON A2** Here, the paper cuts off, because A2 was apparently not kept.

An article from the Puttsdale High school newspaper catches your eye. ###NEW PRINCIPAL INTRODUCES "DETENTION CHAIRS" **In an executive decision one student described as "cruel and unusual," the new principal of Puttsdale High School has introduced a new form of punishment for seniors who misbehavior on campus grounds. After a hard paddling, seniors who choose to break the rules will now be required to complete their detentions bare-bottom on a specially designed "detention chair." "The seat is really hard and uncomfortable," an anonymous student counsel member explained, "but what's worse is that they rubbed ginger oil on it, so it stings extra." Principal Donner and teachers alike believe the new chairs will make seniors think twice before disobeying! "Every year, we have trouble with the senior class that's about to graduate," Principal Donner explains. "They need some extra time to think about their actions."** No doubt this article was written by a senior. //I wonder who was describing it was 'cruel and unusual?'//

**You’re searching valiantly when your eye alights on a continuation (if:$part_1 is "read")[of the article you were reading before: "FORMER PUTTSDALE DISCIPLINEE PRAISES"] starring Anna Roundbottom. You quickly pull it out and read. CONTINUED FROM B1 **may surpise you. "Oh, absolutely," she told this reporter. "I would fully support the program coming back. And I could think of a few young people who might benefit from the role!" She goes on to explain that she wasn’t always in favor of the Disciplinee Program – not by a long shot. Understandably, she resented being spanked for her friends’ mischeif and the bad behavior of her classmates. "But then I realized," she said, "how much of that behavior was actually in my control! See, I was one of the popular girls. All of the disciplinees were popular, girls and boys alike. People would look to us for an example. And when I was setting a good example, the whole town benefited." When I asked what she thought of the spankings themselves, she got a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I complained and complained. But they weren’t always so bad," she says with a laugh. "It depended on who was giving them." Judging from photographs of the local grocer, Henry Dievs, in his youth, this reporter thinks she can catch Anna’s meaning. It isn’t likely the program will return to Puttsdale anytime soon, but Anna Roundbottom says this Disciplinee isn’t going anywhere. Rumors that she is moving after the sale of her bakery is finalized are false. "There’s no better place to live than Puttsdale," she says seriously. "I’m staying right here."** (if:$encounter>0)[//She had that much right,// you think. ]You fold the continuation and place it where you took it from, thoughts still racing.(set:$part_2="read") [[Continue|rows]]] (if:$chance is 2)[Your eye catches on the word //Disciplinee// in the headline, and you yank the article out. The picture is of a middle-aged woman, perhaps early forties, with a shock of platinum white in her long dark hair. She’s wearing a polka-dotted dress with no stockings and a smirk. Despite the age and new hairstyle, it only takes you a moment to realize it’s Anna Roundbottom. ###FORMER PUTTSDALE DISCIPLINEE PRAISES PROGRAM **Anna Roundbottom, 55,** – (//Oh, jeez,// you think, //she’s aged well//.) -- **is a fixture in Puttsdale. Not only did she run the local bakery until its recent sale to Marvin Sly, but she’s also a leading member of the Parent Teacher Association and a frequent guest speaker at the summer festival. Known and beloved for her quick wit, her effortless charm, and her commitment to this community,** – (//Sounds like she really turned things around...//.) -- **is Roundbottom is recognized by every Puttsdale local as the lovely embodiment of our lovely town! What some might not know is that Anna Roundbottom was part of an infamous Puttsdale program started in the 1920s called the "Town Disciplinee Program." Under this program, a single elected resident of Puttsdale would receive all spankings for any rule-breaking! Anna was the 1st of these disciplinees and served the longest in the role: a total of four months, spread out over six separate holdings. While it might seem unfair and wrong-headed to us today, Anna says the program did her and her disciplinee peers a lot of good! "I went from mischief-maker to model citizen," she laughs. "Following people around to make sure they behaved. After all, it was my butt on the line!" Ask Anna Roundbottom if she thinks the program should return, and her answer ** CONTINUED ON B4(set:$part_1="read") The article cuts off there. You’ll have to find the rest of the paper to hear her response. (if:$part_2 is "read")[//I think I already found that one!//] [[Continue|rows]]

An op-ed article in this paper decries the popularization of the microwave. The author thinks frozen meals are replacing genuine home-cooking. **If my daughter ever serves one of those so-called TV dinners to my future-son-in-law, she'll be taking another trip over my lap. And that's a fact!** You imagine the teasing the author's poor daughter must have endured on the day this op-ed was published, and you can't help but grin.(set:$microwave_article=1)

You encounter a headline that grabs your attention: ##MAYOR LINDSAY SPANKED FOR AFFAIR, LYING! **by Sybil Landsworth You're never too old -- even if you're the mayor! Mayor Dana Lindsay, who is up for relection in November, was discovered in an scandalous affair with her receptionist, a young man by the name of Garvin. When details first emerged, Lindsay denied the accusation, but investigators were determined. Following public pressure, Lindsay was made to bare her bottom in a criminal line-up (see photos in section B) so that Garvin could prove his claim by identifying her particular posterior. When Garvin was successful, the case was proved beyond a shadow of a doubt! Mayor Dana Lindsay was subjected to a hard public paddling in city hall last night, with nearly the full town in attendance! "I have recognized the error of my ways, and I will strive to be a better public spank -- er, public servant in the coming months," Mayor Lindsay read tearfully from a written statement after her spanking. The spanking has improved Lindsay's poll numbers -- but will it be enough? "Well, I think she paid the price," said one observer. "Definitely sounded like it -- could hear her from outside! She's got my vote!"** Above the article is a picture of a pretty, raven-haired woman wearing glasses and looking shaken as she reads from a podium -- Mayor Lindsay is probably in her early thirties, and she does look truly sorry. You shake your head in amazement.

You open the a paper from the late 1920s and stumble upon an ad for soothing lotion. An attractive housewife wearing a hankerchief tied around her head is smiling broadly in front of a burnt chicken dinner. Upon second glance, you realize she's not wearing anything besides her apron. She's holding a tub of cream and angling her softly colored bare bottom at the reader. ==><== ###WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES **HANSOM'S SOOTHING CREAM IS THERE FOR YOU WHEN HE GETS HOME** <== //Jeez...different times!// Then you reflect for a moment. //Maybe not for Puttsdale, though...//

Double-click this passage to edit it.

Before you can say another word, the ghost of Anna Roundbottom takes you by your ear -- her pinch is suddenly all too real, and you cry out sharply. Wren covers her mouth and steps back. "Hands against the filing cabinet here, //thank you//," Anna Roundbottom says in a clipped voice. You wonder if she's impersonating some spanker from her own time. She expertly flicks the hem of the dress up, baring your tushy, then peels your underwear down, letting it slide down your legs. Part of you wants to protest, but a larger part of you knows better than to argue when a ghost is baring your bottom. "Now, stick that fanny out, that's good, dear. Be brave for us, now, it hurts you more than me!" She stops, bites a finger. "Or...wait...is that the way it's supposed to go?" She laughs. "I don't often get to be on this side of a spanking! [[Play along]<sub| [Be annoyed]<dom|]<choose|{ }(click:?sub)[(replace:?choose)["Thank you for disciplining us, Miss Roundbottom," you say. "We deserve a spanking for trespassing, and I will take the punishment for both of us." (set:$submissiveness=$submissiveness+1)(color:yellow)[+1 SUBMISSIVENESS!] Anna's face splits into a broad grin. She looks at Wren. "A natural!" she exclaims. She raises her paddle. "//This// ought to be good!"]]{ }(click:?dom)[(replace:?choose)["Just get on with it," you growl. The ghost of Anna Roundbottom tuts. "You're not making this any easier for yourself, having an attitude." She looks up at Wren, who is still standing helplessly aside. "Now -- watch how it's done!"]] //FWACK!// The sting of the paddle catches you completely off guard, like a sudden noise in the middle of the night. Your eyes go wide and your breath catches. You can already feel the mark blooming across both cheeks. Your fingers twitch. "Tough, are you?" Anna says, floating mirthfully to and fro. "We'll see about that! //FWACK!// "//Ngah//!" Your silence in response to the first spank was more on account of shock than bravery -- but now that the warmth is starting to grow, it's fully dawning on you just how much trouble you're in, and you aren't feeling very brave //at all//. //FFFFWACK!// "Aaahaha!" //CRACK!// "Ohhhmigod!" You kick up your foot, then feel pressure on your back. "Hold that tushy out, you," Anna says gleefully. "Or I'll have to start again!" //THWACK!// "Aaaie!" //FWACK!// "Oh //GOD//!" The paddle is as thick and heavy as any you've ever felt, and there's nothing immaterial about the way Anna swings. You feel a blush rising in your cheeks even as your rear end reddens and smarts. You bite your lip, trying to hold back tears. //FWACK!// "Ooowwwww!" Trying... //FWACK!// "Gaaaaaiee!" //Trying...// //FFWACK!// And failing. The first sob burst out of you just as the paddle claps hard against your rear, a full, flat contact that extends all the way across your sit-spots. You squeal and clench your eyes shut, still crying out even as another swat comes down. //FWACK! FWACK! FWACK! FWACK!// Before too long, your bottom is a deep pink color, and Wren's expression is both horrified and apologetic. Your tears are streaming down your face, and as each swat pops loudly against your backside you are screaming loud enough to hurt your throat. Finally, Anna steps back and lets the paddle drop to her side. She looks immensely satisfied...but a little disappointed that your punishment is over. "Well met," she says finally, as her form begins to fade. "That's all...for now!" She gives you a mocking salute. "From one spankee to another -- I hope I see that bare butt again!" Then laughter surrounds you as Anna disappears from view. Wren rushes forward as you step off the cabinet, rubbing your tending hindquarters and whimpering. "I'm so sorry!" she says. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," you gasp, even though your bottom is most certainly //not//. "We can go now, if you want," Wren says. "You've //definitely// helped me enough!" It's tempting...but you shake your head. You've gotten harder spankings before. And you don't want to run scared //now// -- you can feel in your bones that there's more to do here. "No," you say. "It's fine. Lets...let's keep looking for stuff. About Anna Roundbottom." Your eyes flash. "I have a feeling we're about to find something //big//." Wren says nothing. She only looks at you hard for a moment, then nods. You both scurry back to your rows, and the search continues. //What are we searching FOR, though?// you think grimly, rubbing your tender behind, //That's the REAL question...// [[Continue|rows]]

"What does it all mean?" you ask. "I'm not sure, but I think I know one thing that will help." She reaches to her waist and starts unbuttoning her pants. "Wh-what are you doing?" you exclaim, blushing. Wren doesn't blink an eye as she pulls her jean shorts to the floor and steps out of the legholes. Her panties -- still over-stretched -- are soon to follow. "Anna Roundbottom was barebottom for her spanking on the parade float -- the whole //town// saw her naked butt! I think that means //we// ought to be naked too. Or at least bare-bottomed. All disciplinee spankings were on the bare..." (if:$encounter>0)[Finally blushing, she adds, "Maybe that's why my underwear was...//objected// to."] It doesn't make much sense to you. But then again, none of this ghost stuff does. So far, it //does// seem like Wren has been right. //Should I just follow her lead on this?// [[Bare your bottom|bare bottom]] [Refuse]<refuse|(click-replace:?refuse)[ "No way," you say, shaking your head. "I'm not walking around the basement in the library with my //ass// out for some ghost." Wren shrugs. She looks almost impossibly cute half-naked, the little patch of light brown hair forming a triangle at her crotch, her bare bottom as smooth and white as milk. "Suit yourself. Time to get back to work."] ](else:)[ ###SENIOR PRANK PROMPTS A PARADE OF PUNISHMENT -- You've already seen this article.]

Wren grimaces apologetically. Her hair has fallen into her face, giving her a cute, dishevelled look. She bites her lower lip. You’d think it was sexy if you didn’t have so much already on your – //FWACK!// "Ngaahh! //Ooooow//!" ...mind. "Th-three, ma’am!" Now the ghost turns her attention to Wren, who squirms once (ineffectively) against the invisible binds. You see the paddle rise from the corner of your eye, then fall with an immensely satisfying //splat!// Wren jerks her head up and cries out, hissing and kicking her feet. "One, thank you m-ma’am!" //FFWACK!// "T-two! Thank you, ma’am!" Anna Roundbottom folds her arms. "This one catches on quickly! I like that!" She bites the nail of her thumb coyly. "It’s almost," you add under your breath, "as though you were used to this sort of situation." Wren simpers, then shrugs her shrugs as best she can. "Ghost-hunting," she pants, "doesn’t always pan out as planned." //FFWACK!// "Owwwwaahahahaa! //Three//, thank you, ma’am!" In alternating rounds of two and three, the apparition beats both of your bottoms with a gleeful abandon. Sometimes the smacks are so powerful that the lights around you flicker and dim – or maybe that’s just in your mind. What definitely //isn’t// in your head is the powerful, radiant heat emanating off both of your derrieres as the ghost of Anna Roundbottom administers the final swats. //FWACK!// "Gaahaha! 18! Th-thank you! Mmmmmphaaa! Ma’am!" //FWACK!// "Ohmigooood! //19!// Thank you, ma’am!" //FWACK!// Agony and relief course through you as the final swat connects, sending you rocking forward as your bright red bottom dances to that infernal rhythm. You puff out your cheeks, out of breath from howling, drop your head and announce in a quivering voice: "T-twenty! Thank-you, m-ma’am!" You glance over at Wren as she takes her final three swats looking straight ahead, setting her jaw and clenching her eyes shut between strokes. Her face is glossy and wet with tears, but her gray eyes shine under the bright green light. //FWACK!// Gritting her teeth, Wren belts out: "19, thank you, ma’am!" Then she whimpers, twisting her hips – "Mmmmph..." – and drops her head. The final smack of your double-punishment resonates through the archives. Wren kicks up both legs, then her cry fades into a moan. You’re able to glance behind you just enough to see the top of Wren’s blistered rear end for yourself, as scarlet and hot as a poker on a fire – you have you believe your bottom looks the same. "Th-thank you for our spanking, A-anna," Wren sobs. "Y-yeah," you manage to choke out. You can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of your voice, though, and you brace for an extra swat. But the ghost of Anna Roundbottom doesn’t seem to care. She steps back to admire her handiwork. "I have //always// wanted to do that," she says, more to herself than to either of you. You feel the binds on your wrists loosening, and you stand up stiffly. Wren joins you, sniffling and rubbing her dark red caboose. "Alright," you say, trying to sound as steady as you can despite your nakedness and the throbbing in your backside. "You’ve spanked us both. 20 swats, on the bare. Now will you let us leave?" The ghost looks up at you, and her eyes flash. "Let you leave?" Her scowl deepens, then changes to a smirk. "What an idea!" You and Wren feel a soft wind blowing behind you, and like a breeze through a cemetery it chills you to the bones. Anna’s hair flutters and her eyes glow white and empty. She opens her hand, and the paddle – instead of falling to the floor – levitates by her as she steps back. "Uh-oh." You aren’t sure if you or Wren said it, or if you said it together. Either way, you don’t have a good feeling here. "**Come to think of it, the two of you //are// still// tresspassing,**" she says, her voice beginning to echo again. "**So allow me to //show you the door!//**" Suddenly, the floating paddle lunges and strikes Wren on her already sore bottom. "Gaaha!" she cries out. Then, "Run for it!" The archives echo with laughter as you and Wren run screaming from the haunted implement, your naked feet pounding the linoleum, the lights flickering and blinking, the cursed laughter rising in pitch and volume as the paddle cracks down on your bouncing butts -- //FWACK!// "Ngah!" //FWACK!// "Oeeea//ah//!" – all the way up the stairs and to the door. You both grab the doorknob together and pull mightily as the paddle winds up for another swing. As soon as the door is open you both stagger forward, tumbling over each other, landing naked and red-bottomed and crying aloud – -- right at Libby Martine, the librarian’s, feet. "What in the //hell//," she hisses. "do you think you’re doing making //that// kind of noise in //my// library?" You turn, just as the last echos of ghostly laughter fade, and the door to the library archives shuts behind you. "W-we’re sorry, Libby!" Wren says in a heightened whisper. "It wasn’t our fault!" you add. "There’s a –" Libby makes a furious //shh!// gesture and you fall silent. "If you want to run around naked and spanking each other," she says, glancing scornfully at your matching red tushies, "you sure as hell aren’t going to do it in here. And //certainly// not in the archives. Now get up!" You both stand silently, cupping your hands over yourselves as the patrons of the library glance surripticiously at you over their books, giggling softly. "We didn’t do this to ourselves," you whisper, your face getting hot. "There’s s-something //down there!//" Libby raises an eyebrow, but when you try to explain, she holds up her hand. "Both of you. Out front. Library steps." You open your mouths to protest, but she glowers at you over her glasses. "//Now//." ==><== *** <== Which is how you and Wren wound up spending the afternoon naked on alternate sides of the library steps, noses pressed against the stone, ruby-red bottoms on full display to the street. Libby did give you each a few hard swats – eliciting //far// more noise than would be allowed in a normal town's library – but she apparently figured that your bottoms were mostly punished enough, because she didn’t take out her special paddle. The embarassment of having your nude corner time in front of every pedestrian on Lake Street, however, was more than punishment enough, on top of the supernatural spanking neither of you will soon forget. You risk a glance over at Wren, and are surprised to see she’s risking a glance at you. Her pretty face is tear stained and the crimson of her spanked cheeks stands out hotly from the rest of her paleness... She mouths a word to you. //Sorry.// And then she smiles. You discover -- again to your surprise – that you are smiling back. It was quite an adventure the two of you had together. Actually pretty fun at times – and who knew ghosts were actually //real//?! Still, you think it will be a while before you join Wren on adventure again. The memory of this one is going to haunt you for quite some time... //THE END//

After Anna disappeared, all of the files in the archive returned to their proper places. You and Wren watched as the drawers calmly closed, and even the chair slid back to its proper place on the wall. You look at each other, silent and understanding. Without saying it, you communicate a single phrase to each other. //Our work here is done.// You change back into your regular clothes, which are folded where you left them on the floor. Wren tucks the disciplinee dress into her backpack, as well as the oak paddle, which was still lying where Anna dropped it before she went over your lap. You wonder if those items will even come in handy again. You're pretty sure they will. In the library upstairs, it looks to everyone as though nothing at all has changed. Libby glances at you as you come to her kiosk counter and return the archives key. "Find what you were looking for?" she says as she takes it from you. You and Wren exchange a glance, both of you grinning. "I'm not sure we knew exactly what we were looking for," you say. "But we definitely found //something//." "Well, that's how research is," Libby says as she deposits the archive key in her desk drawer. "You go in thinking you're there for one thing, and something else comes up. That means you're doing it right." She smiles at you both. "I'm impressed with the two of you. You were down there a long time, and I could hear a lot of work getting done. Anytime you want to go back down there, you just ask." You smile. "We might just take you up on that," you say. "Yeah," Wren adds. "There's always another mystery to solve." //THE END//