Ooooh this sounds really mysterious!! Are you WildWolf or Moon Wolf?

ooo sounds interesting! Are you Parody or Lupine?

Later, February 2, 1903 | Mr. Jones’s House, Likely

”Are there any  hotels in this town?” you ask. 

“One, “ says the man. “I’d offer for you to stay here, but my house is rather crowded. I suppose you could stay in Mrs. Smith’s house, people are hoping to sell it soon, so it hasn’t gone to waste. I’m Mr. Jones. Tell me if you have any trouble going anywhere, and if it’s the hotel at which you’d like to stay, I can give you directions.”

You fiddle with the buttons of your long green coat (green is your favorite color). After about a minute, you make your decision.

“I’d like to stay at—“ you say. 

Where are you going to stay, Mrs. Smith’s house or the hotel? 

i love that there are so many of these now! i love text adventures, i'm really happy to be making one, and for there to be so many!

February 2, 1903 | Mrs. Smith's House

"--Mrs. Smith's house," you announce.
"Okay," says Mr. Jones. "Would you like to come to my house for dinner?"
"I'd be honored," you say.
"Come over at six and you can meet my children," says Mr. Jones.
"Thank you," you tell him cordially. You pick up your carpetbag and go back into Mrs. Smith's house. As it gets darker out, it gets a bit more terrifying. In the kitchen are three large lanterns. You look through a few empty drawers and then find one with a book of matches in it. You light the match and use it to light a lantern.
You take the lantern and your bag upstairs. There are three bedrooms, one on the right, one on the left, and one in the middle. You go into the one on the left. This one probably belonged to Mrs. Smith; there are flowers on the bedspread and the comforter, and a row of brown dresses hang in the closet. The next one is a room devoted to sewing; it doesn't have a bed in it. The last one is a guest bedroom, but it's really small and the bed has a rough, knitted blanket on it. You set your bag in the guest bedroom and then go downstairs to find a bathroom.
After that, you explore the rest of the house: a sitting room, which is very proper and has knitted covers on all the furniture, and a library. You find a volume of Sherlock Holmes stories and start reading it. You have always liked mysteries. Those, and stories about horses. And people. Everything, really, except romance, which you detest and don't really see the sense in.
You look up at the clock. It's 5:55. You wonder how you lost track of time. Quickly, you go upstairs and pin your hair into a knot. You have hair that is brown and wavy and falls to the middle of your back. It's fairly plain and a touch thin, but at least it doesn't tangle much. Then you go back downstairs and out the door to the Jones house.
"Hello," says Mr. Jones, who opens the door for you. "I'm so sorry, but I don't believe I know your name."
How could you have forgotten to introduce yourself? "Rose," you say. "Rose Thornton."
"Thank you," says Mr. Jones. You follow him down the hall. It's warm inside; you take off your coat and hang it on an empty hook.
The rest of Mr. Jones's family is in the dining room, seated around a large table with two empty chairs.
"This is my wife, Lydia Lancaster-Jones, and these are my children, from eldest to youngest and in order of how they are seated Nora, Lily, John, Adelaide, Elizabeth, Harry, and Sean," says Mr. Jones. "This is Miss Rose Thornton, who is staying in the house next door for the present." He sits down, and you sit in the only empty chair left, which is between Mr. Jones and Nora.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Thornton," says Nora, placing her napkin on her lap.
"Call me Rose," you say. She's only one or two years younger than you at the most; she's nearly as tall as Mr. Jones, sitting at least, and has long red hair.
"So, what brings you here?" Nora passes you the potatoes.
"I was supposed to stay with Mrs. Smith, who was my great-aunt. No one told me she died," you say.
"It was very sudden and unexpected. Happened in her sleep. The whole town came to the funeral, which the innkeeper held."
You want to say something about the whole town being not very big when you realize that you haven't really been anywhere except Main Street, South Street, and First Street, which is the street you are on right now.
"At least, they say it happened in her sleep," continues Nora. "People say she was murdered with poison. The house has a loose lock on her bedroom door, which Mrs. Soderstrom, who's her knitting friend--was, I guess--wasn't like that before, and she was found in bed without the covers on." Nora catches sight of your shocked expression and says, "Sorry. I shouldn't tell you morbid things. Miss Halsey--the schoolmistress--says it's rude. Especially considering she's your great-aunt."
"No, no, it's fine," you say. It's only that you thought that you'd be in for two weeks of sipping tea with an old lady, and then two weeks of reading Sherlock Holmes stories alone on a couch. Now, though, it seems you might just be in for two weeks of staying in a small town, investigating a murder.
"What's it like having siblings?" you ask, changing the subject.
"Well," says Nora, "it's chaotic, but it's nice. Lily and I are pretty close, and it's like having lots of friends. Probably nice being the oldest, too, better than the middle child or the youngest. But I kind of worry about the others, you know? Adelaide and John are also close, and Elizabeth and Harry, so everyone has a friend who's close in age, except Sean." She points her fork at Sean, who is young enough to be flinging his mashed potatoes everywhere. "So I worry about that. But, for a while, he'll be the cute/annoying one, and then maybe he'll get along with Harry and Elizabeth? It's good to hope."
You nod, but your mind elsewhere, in your dead great-aunt's bedroom with the loose lock. You can imagine a corpse, except you've never seen one so you think it's like a sewing dummy wearing a nightgown and a bit more human, lying on top of the covers. Your mind is still elsewhere as you go into Mrs. Smith's house and take your hair down, until you're confronted by the choice of where to sleep. The corpse image still haunts you. As you pace back and forth holding your bag, you rattle the knob on Mrs. Smith's bedroom door. 
Nora, and Mrs. Soderstrom, were right. It spins nearly all the way around in your hand with an eerie, creaky noise.
But, where are you going to sleep, Mrs. Smith's room or the guest room?

February 2-3, 1903 | Mrs. Smith's House

You decide to go into the guest room, huddling under the thin blanket and putting on your dressing-gown. After a while you simply can't fall asleep, as the dressing-gown's belt is itchy, but you get out of bed and discover a set of drawers beneath the bed. In one are several musty blankets. Musty or not, you unfold all of them and put them on the bed, and then sleep until the morning.
Then, there is someone in the house. Someone has long fingers and short arms. You are standing at the door, looking at someone, but someone doesn't have any interest in you and is merely walking towards Mrs. Smith's room. Someone puts a pair of tweezers into the lock and jiggles it. A few minutes later, you hear "Please take down my last words--I hope I will survive!" screamed in a high voice from the room next door. Someone slinks out of Mrs. Smith's room and then pokes you in the face. 
You wake up. You really are standing in the doorway of your room. You suppose you've sleepwalked. What poked you in the face was the tassel on the doorknob. 
"Hello?" you call. Nobody answers. Your room has a view of the street; you sit by the window, and someone doesn't come out, even though you know in your heart of hearts that someone was in your dream and not reality.
You get dressed and then wonder what to do about breakfast. Your stomach growls. You decide to knock on the Joneses' door and ask them how to get the hotel; it seems a touch rude to eat with them without being invited. You put some money in your pocket, go downstairs, and then knock on their door. 
Lily answers.
"Where's the hotel?" you ask her. 
"Oh, Miss Thornton," she says, surprised you're here. 
"Please call me Rose," you say.
"It's on Main Street, the second-tallest building. Do you know how to get there?" 
"South? to First," you say, trying to remember the streets. 
"That's right," says Lily. "But I'll see if Nora wants to walk with you. She'd probably appreciate taking Sean out for some air; she's on infant duty right now." 
"Okay," you tell her. She disappears into the house and then Nora walks out with Sean strapped to her back. 
"This troublesome rule about my parents wanting some free time," she says. "But at least he doesn't mind being tied up to people. Elizabeth was a writher. You're going to the hotel?"
"Yes," you say.

Should you tell Nora about your sleepwalking dream?

February 3, 1903 | Town Streets and Main Street Hotel, Likely, California

You decide not to tell Nora about your dream and the sleepwalking. You didn't start to bring it up, either, so she continues talking. 
"Once my cousins stayed there," she says. "They said it was real nice." 
"That's good," you say. "I'm only there to eat breakfast. Have you eaten?" 
"I have," says Nora, "but I figure that you won't get lost?" 
You have a pretty good sense of direction and, anyways, since you live in San Francisco, you think you're pretty good about not getting turned around. 
"I won't," you say. "Don't worry."
"Here we are," she says. "I'll go back home, then." 
"Goodbye," you tell Nora. She waves. 
You walk to the door marked "Restaurant" and enter it. It's very crowded. A person is standing at a podium seating people; there's a small line to get to them. Eventually you reach the person.
"Just you, miss?" he asked. He is wearing suspenders and a plaid shirt. 
"Just me," you say.
"Is it all right if I seat you with someone else?" 
You hesitate a beat.
"Sure," you say.
"All right, miss. Your table is number fourteen, over there in the corner with young Miss Soderstrom at it, see, her in the hat. Someone will be around in a minute for you to order." 
"Thank you," you say. The description of young Miss Soderstrom as "her in the hat" is very true; she's wearing a white mostly-flat hat (not a bonnet) adorned with filmy white cloth, flowers, and a veil. It ties under her chin, and the veil isn't all that veilish, because you can see her face.
You also realize that, even though she's probably not Mrs. Soderstrom the knitting friend, she might be related to that Mrs. Soderstrom.
"Hello," you say. "My name is Rose Thornton." 
"Katherine Soderstrom," she says, offering her hand. You shake it. She's probably about thirty-five years old. "I believe my mother knew your great-aunt, if you're Celia's daughter." 
"I am," you say. Your mother's name used to be Celia Smith, and then she changed it to Celia Thornton when she married Thomas Thornton, your father. 
"Very sad," says Miss Soderstrom. "I attended her funeral. Mother was a bit distressed and said that her bedroom lock had been forced, but at her age..." 
The waiter comes and asks you for orders. You order pancakes and Miss Soderstrom orders toast. Then the waiter leaves and you say, 
"The doorknob doesn't work too well." 
"Who knows?" says Miss Soderstrom airily. "Perhaps it's rusty. Anyways, if you'd like to meet my mother, you can come to my house after this. Discuss about Tabitha and such." 
"Who is Tabitha?" you ask.
"Tabitha Smith? Your late great-aunt?" 
You did not know that Mrs. Smith's name was Tabitha. 
"I think--" 

Will you go see Mrs. Soderstrom or not?