A Scavenger Haunt
This game was made for Jamie's November 1st 2025 housewarming party to celebrate –and draw attention to– the interesting features and history of her new home. A housewarming is an occasion for friends, food, and celebration, but also an opportunity to recognize and commemorate the past occupants and memories of the house.
Nov 3rd 2025 update:
If you have not had a chance to play or finish the game, you may still be in luck. Contact Jamie to schedule a time to swing by, BYO group of 3 - 5. Core play through should take 45 min - 2 hours. Spoilers below!
Nov 3rd 2025 update:
If you have not had a chance to play or finish the game, you may still be in luck. Contact Jamie to schedule a time to swing by, BYO group of 3 - 5. Core play through should take 45 min - 2 hours. Spoilers below!
Game Walkthrough
You enter Jamie's home on November 1st, ready to party. To your right, you find a table with pre-folded pamphlets, pencils, halved popsicle sticks, and flashlights. A sheet of paper provides additional info. The Content Notes section is covered by a liftable card.
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As a sensible game player, you follow the instructions and read the Brief History section first. Then, with your small group of friends and your trusty flashlight, you head out to explore the house. As you begin to locate the listed items you notice that some of them lead to further clues which, curiously, don't seem to be mentioned in the scavenger hunt. These three storylines can be explored in any order.
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The Locked Chest
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In the attic, you encounter a locked antique Victorian steamer trunk. Upon examining the lock, you see a small drawing of knives has been attached below it with yellowing cello tape. Recalling that you read a scavenger hunt clue for "A knife that looks like a key", you go in search of this fabled Kney.
In the kitchen, you locate the magnetic knife block and notice that one of these knives is not like the other ones. Taking the remodeled butter knife, you return the the attic and unlock the chest. Inside the top compartment of the chest you find a wrapped bundle containing a Sony walkman player loaded with a cassette, headphones, an old school photograph with the name "Valerie", and a high-tech rewinding pencil. |
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The original label shows the tape was a 1976 release by The Commodores. However, "For Hazel" has been written on the tape, and the audio is clearly not 70's funk. A short intro by a young woman named Valerie plays, followed by David Bowie's 1974 hit "Rebel Rebel. Click play to hear the recording in all its crackly glory.
After listening to the cassette, you use the pencil to rewind the tape because I was not able to find a vintage Walkman with a functioning rewind button on short notice. |
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The Dumbwaiter
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Following the clue "Send an item to the kitchen by dumbwaiter", you go to the basement and find the cranking mechanism. Lowering the dumbwaiter, you see that it has a false bottom. On the right side is a book, attached to the dumbwaiter with a piece of string. This book is the March 1925 issue of the Jefferson High School's literary publication "Spectrum". Opening the book, you find a bookmark with the message:
"Well done Clara! First, read your mother's poem. Then feel around at the very top of the laundry chute for your next clue" |
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As an attentive player, you have read the history of the house and immediately recognize the name Wilma Oelsner, whose poem "Hyacinth" is on the marked page. You briefly enjoy the literary efforts of a 15 year-old from 100 years ago.
Following the clue on the bookmark, you and your your team go upstairs. Inside the top of the laundry chute, you find a letter tightly wedged against the inside wall. It too is tied to the chute, and cannot be removed. The letter has been typed. It appears to be from Ida, and addresses her sisters Wilma and Anna. At the bottom of the letter is a code. |
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Reading the letter, you understand that there is a third clue in the kitchen near the laundry chute, and that you will need at least three people to solve the puzzle. In the kitchen, you find a long cabinet that contains brooms, a second book, and upon closer inspection, an entrance to the laundry chute. The exit of the laundry chute is in the basement, right next to the dumbwaiter.
This second book is a Red Cross First Aid Textbook published in 1940. It is chained to the closet and, like the other items, cannot be removed. Understanding the mechanism of the puzzle, you instruct one team member to stand at the laundry chute in the basement with Spectrum in hand, and one team member to wait at the kitchen chute entrance, ready with the Red Cross book. |
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Returning to the top of the laundry chute, you read out the clues. Conveniently, speaking into the chute proves to be an excellent way to communicate with your team. Seeing that "P", "L" and "W" likely refer to Page, Line, and Word, you identify that the solved word "I" corresponds to the 20th page, 8th line, and 3rd word of Spectrum. By process of elimination, you conclude that the top row of clues must require the Red Cross book, while the bottom row can be solved with the Spectrum book. You alternate asking your basement and kitchen helpers to look up the appropriate words in each book, marking Ida's final unwritable missive to her sisters.
"I long to join you under the quiet earth"
the Basement Hideout
The clue "A hideout under the basement stairs" leads you to an alcove with some interesting material pinned to the wall.
Transitioning to the attic, you locate the west window and feel around inside the left wall. Inside, hanging on a pin, is a small sheaf of rather messily typed papers.
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Following Hazel and Max's suggestion, you go to the living room and find a locked antique cabinet. Behind the cabinet is another letter.
Per Ida's clue, you go to the kitchen and find the brick facade behind the cast iron stove. Counting down 14 bricks on one side, you see a key stuffed into the gap between the brick and the wall. This key unlocks the cabinet.
You take the tray outside as instructed and light the candles. This time is yours, to do as you choose. A folded "Closing Letter" is clipped to a board, with a warning not to read the letter until you have explored all three short storylines. At this point, the game ends. Scroll down to the next section for the text of this letter.
+ Easter egg
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Those who noticed the original number of the house (seen on the left column of the front porch) and checked what time the clock had stopped at would notice these numbers are same: 821 and 8:21. Upon opening the back of the clock, they would also have found a palm-sized compact containing a photograph of a woman.
Though unmarked, this easter egg is intended to be Olga, the wife of Oscar and mother of Ida, Anna, and Wilma. |
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Closing letter
When creating a modular physical game such as this, there is always a question of “where the hell am I going to put the closing credits?”. Not every game needs an explicit end missive, but I found myself wanting closure for this one. Maybe you do too.
This game is packaged as a simple scavenger hunt. Yet among the knicknacks, you encounter supposed evidence of the personal struggles and bereavements experienced by the prior occupants of the house. Ultimately, you are invited to contemplate your own experience with loss and grief in whatever way feels right to you. I did not intend this outcome from the start, but (as I should probably know by now), game creation has a tendency to act as a mirror for my own deeply buried thoughts.
I was not raised with codified rituals for remembering the dead. There are many cultures with traditions tied to just this, such as Día De Los Muertos and Allerheiligen, but mainstream white America seems to fear death and loss to the point of rejecting even those things that could bring us comfort. Grief is often treated as a thing that must be experienced alone, preferably behind closed doors, and one is eventually expected to just get over it.
My hope with this game is to have created a small opportunity, both for shared grief as well as a celebration of lives lived. A housewarming, particularly in a house so old, is an occasion for recognizing the past occupants and memories of the home as well as welcoming new occupants and new stories. I believe that maintaining a connection between past and future, history and posterity, is an essential part of our humanity, and it is easy to become untethered to the present without this linkage.
The development process of this game allowed me to reflect on my own grief, and to remember and celebrate the lives of the people I have lost. It also offered me the unusual chance to dig into the identities of people I have never met, researching or imagining their experiences and wondering what their lives were like. I hope your experience as a player has been likewise beneficial for you, or at least not unwelcome. Thank you for your participation and your willingness to go on this journey together. Please be gentle with yourself.
- Tess
This game is packaged as a simple scavenger hunt. Yet among the knicknacks, you encounter supposed evidence of the personal struggles and bereavements experienced by the prior occupants of the house. Ultimately, you are invited to contemplate your own experience with loss and grief in whatever way feels right to you. I did not intend this outcome from the start, but (as I should probably know by now), game creation has a tendency to act as a mirror for my own deeply buried thoughts.
I was not raised with codified rituals for remembering the dead. There are many cultures with traditions tied to just this, such as Día De Los Muertos and Allerheiligen, but mainstream white America seems to fear death and loss to the point of rejecting even those things that could bring us comfort. Grief is often treated as a thing that must be experienced alone, preferably behind closed doors, and one is eventually expected to just get over it.
My hope with this game is to have created a small opportunity, both for shared grief as well as a celebration of lives lived. A housewarming, particularly in a house so old, is an occasion for recognizing the past occupants and memories of the home as well as welcoming new occupants and new stories. I believe that maintaining a connection between past and future, history and posterity, is an essential part of our humanity, and it is easy to become untethered to the present without this linkage.
The development process of this game allowed me to reflect on my own grief, and to remember and celebrate the lives of the people I have lost. It also offered me the unusual chance to dig into the identities of people I have never met, researching or imagining their experiences and wondering what their lives were like. I hope your experience as a player has been likewise beneficial for you, or at least not unwelcome. Thank you for your participation and your willingness to go on this journey together. Please be gentle with yourself.
- Tess
Credits
Many thanks to:
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Real history
I also want to acknowledge the real people and real history that underlie the narrative of this experience. I would describe the events alluded to in this game as metaphorical rather than historical. Though I did start with some confirmed history, the creative process quickly required a great deal of invention in order to create satisfactory puzzle mechanics. Below is the history that is true, to the best of my knowledge.
- The house was built in 1906 by a grocer, from a pre-fab catalog kit. He had two daughters who were spinsters.
- Linda and Martha Goetsch bought the house in 1981 from the Lyon family. Reportedly, the then-owners selected them because their daughter was also a lesbian and they felt sympathetic to the challenges that Linda and Martha faced in society at that time. Despite working as a obstetrician, Martha still had to have a man –her father– sign the mortgage.
- Other previous occupants include Zella and Dave Ankrom. The name of the grocer who built the house is unknown to me, and not identifiable through a cursory search of city records.
- Wilma Oelsner (1910 - 1945) was the daughter of German Immigrant Wilhelm Julius Oelsner and Illinois-born Katharina Neuhaus. She was born in Portland and attended Jefferson high school. Her short story and poem can be found in the March 1925 copy of Spectrum, a quarterly publication released by the student body. She had three older sisters, Martha, Erna, and Bertha. Her tombstone, as well as her father's (and likely other members of her family) can be found at Lone Fir Cemetery.
Photos
I sourced the photos from Village Merchants on Division. With the exception of cases where a name or date was written on the photograph, I have no context or identities for these people.
Unknown subject, no date. This man played the role of Oscar Oelsner in this game.
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Dated 1947, titled "Anna". This woman played the role of Anna, second daughter of Oscar Oelsner.
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Reverse of Anna's Photo.
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Originally dated to July 29th, 1923. I altered the date to 1933 to fit the narrative, and gave these figures the role of Wilma Oelsner and her child Clara.
Labeled Emil Sell and Family: Aunt Emilia, Jeanette, Olga, Florence, Ernie. Either of the two middle women could be Olga, but I selected the left to play the role of Oscar's wife. Her photo only appears in the easter egg compact inside of the clock.
Reverse of Olga's family photo.
Making the game
There's nothing like deciding to make a complex narrative game with less than three weeks until launch. Development was fast and sometimes haphazard. I took cues from whatever elements presented themselves –nooks and crannies of the house, found ephemera, any kind of functioning machinery– and wrote the story to fit.
One particular challenge in building this game came from the 100+ year historical window. We were often limited by what items could be found, altered, or believably forged to appear to be appropriately old. Luckily, Portland has plenty of shops full to the brim with weird old stuff. Most of the ephemera came from Village Merchants for a few dollars apiece: The Red Cross book, Spectrum, the old photos, and (bought previously for another game) the easter egg compact. The vintage matches came from the Monticello Antique Marketplace, and I gained valuable insight while reading through several antique scrapbooks and journals in other shops. The 1976 Commodores cassette came from an unexpected visit to Area 41, Rozz Rezabek-Wright's usually closed vintage store.
For the paper items, I sourced blank paper from my own childhood collection of art materials. Non-archival paper from the 90's, as it turns out, does a great job of degrading believably. I borrowed Jamie's 1962 Royal Typewriter for the typed items, and used my feet and left hand to create 5 year old Max's creepy drawing and 10 year old Hazel's notes. One of my neighbors generously donated her cursive skills for Anna and Ida's note to their niece Clara, my own handwriting being irredeemably Millennial.
Two new keys were required for this game. Jamie's gorgeous spalted wood cabinet had a lock but no key. To remedy this, Luke and I removed the lock, purchased a hollow-barrel skeleton key of approximately the correct size, then trimmed the key down and rearranged the tumbler wafers to match. We were not able to disassemble the lock of the steamer trunk in the attic, so we took an alternate method of progressively cutting a thin metal shim into the correct shape for the lock, removing sections as needed to allow the key to turn. Once we had identified the correct pattern, I cut the tip of a small butter knife into what I am affectionately referring to as "The Kney".
For the cassette tape, Luke and Jenn worked together to record Valerie's introduction. I wiped the tape, which has already been recorded over at least once, then re-recorded Jenn's audio followed by Bowie's Rebel Rebel. If it sounds like the recording was made on a 50 year-old cassette using a poor quality headphone mic and a phone speaker at full volume, that's because it was.
I artificially aged various accouterment to go with these props. A blend of alcohol inks sufficed to yellow modern cellophane tape, and a (likely inadvisable) home-made solution of weak peracetic acid served to corrode various metal pins, chains, and binder clips. This same solution was also used to stain several lengths of cotton twine. I used the twine and a metal chain to attach the two books to their assigned locations, which did involve punching small holes in each. Please don't report me to any librarians.
This game was truly a great excuse to dig through antiques, meet new people, and dive into some rather interesting Portland history. People often ask me if I am ever sad to always be making puzzle experiences instead of getting to solve them, but I find that the best puzzle of all lies in the process of creation.
Many thanks to Luke C for lock fiddling, concept co-development, draft & script writing, and general support.
One particular challenge in building this game came from the 100+ year historical window. We were often limited by what items could be found, altered, or believably forged to appear to be appropriately old. Luckily, Portland has plenty of shops full to the brim with weird old stuff. Most of the ephemera came from Village Merchants for a few dollars apiece: The Red Cross book, Spectrum, the old photos, and (bought previously for another game) the easter egg compact. The vintage matches came from the Monticello Antique Marketplace, and I gained valuable insight while reading through several antique scrapbooks and journals in other shops. The 1976 Commodores cassette came from an unexpected visit to Area 41, Rozz Rezabek-Wright's usually closed vintage store.
For the paper items, I sourced blank paper from my own childhood collection of art materials. Non-archival paper from the 90's, as it turns out, does a great job of degrading believably. I borrowed Jamie's 1962 Royal Typewriter for the typed items, and used my feet and left hand to create 5 year old Max's creepy drawing and 10 year old Hazel's notes. One of my neighbors generously donated her cursive skills for Anna and Ida's note to their niece Clara, my own handwriting being irredeemably Millennial.
Two new keys were required for this game. Jamie's gorgeous spalted wood cabinet had a lock but no key. To remedy this, Luke and I removed the lock, purchased a hollow-barrel skeleton key of approximately the correct size, then trimmed the key down and rearranged the tumbler wafers to match. We were not able to disassemble the lock of the steamer trunk in the attic, so we took an alternate method of progressively cutting a thin metal shim into the correct shape for the lock, removing sections as needed to allow the key to turn. Once we had identified the correct pattern, I cut the tip of a small butter knife into what I am affectionately referring to as "The Kney".
For the cassette tape, Luke and Jenn worked together to record Valerie's introduction. I wiped the tape, which has already been recorded over at least once, then re-recorded Jenn's audio followed by Bowie's Rebel Rebel. If it sounds like the recording was made on a 50 year-old cassette using a poor quality headphone mic and a phone speaker at full volume, that's because it was.
I artificially aged various accouterment to go with these props. A blend of alcohol inks sufficed to yellow modern cellophane tape, and a (likely inadvisable) home-made solution of weak peracetic acid served to corrode various metal pins, chains, and binder clips. This same solution was also used to stain several lengths of cotton twine. I used the twine and a metal chain to attach the two books to their assigned locations, which did involve punching small holes in each. Please don't report me to any librarians.
This game was truly a great excuse to dig through antiques, meet new people, and dive into some rather interesting Portland history. People often ask me if I am ever sad to always be making puzzle experiences instead of getting to solve them, but I find that the best puzzle of all lies in the process of creation.
Many thanks to Luke C for lock fiddling, concept co-development, draft & script writing, and general support.