The Sunday Papers

While following a peculiar trail of silver and saffron leaves around the largest roots of the Treehouse, you come across a hexagonal wooden door lying half-hidden among ivy and moss. Scraping away the dirt, you discover a faint, absurd engraving of a newspaper. What mystery is here? You turn the brass knob – strange, it is warm! – and the engraving of the newspaper flutters. The pages turn faster and faster, emitting a howling gale that bowls you head over foot. When you pick yourself up, you are inside a vast attic full of books and bricabrac, lit from one side by windows that offer no view of the outside world – just light and mist. Tarnation! You have been lured into the eternal prison of Sunday Afternoon. Fortunately, there are several ways to escape. Each of the arcane objects before you is secretly a portal, transporting you to another site of arcane activity, in a bizarre web of diversions that cannot possibly reflect the hand of a human curator. Which will y