The Haunted House
After answering the questions in the gingerbread house, the woman nods gratefully and hands you a piece of parchment that looks like it hasn’t seen fresh air since the invention of punch cards. “You’re quite clever,” she says. “Here’s your next clue. At the next crossroads, go right. But be careful. The guardians of Sunnyside Fields don’t usually sleep this deeply.” She nods toward the dog, now producing a snore that sounds suspiciously like a small volcano contemplating an eruption.
With growing determination, you set off again. Dusk is settling over the fields, and you briefly consider setting up camp—but the mark on your map is so tantalisingly close that you decide to press on just a bit farther.
Eventually, hidden deep within a tangle of trees, you find it: an old, crumbling house.
Crooked signs hang from nearby branches: “Beware of Ghosts”, “Enter if You Dare”, and “Danger—But Make It Fashion.”
But there it is—Bastet’s symbol etched onto one of the signs. So you swallow your unease, ignore the knot in your stomach, and step toward the entrance.
The door creaks open with such melodramatic flair that you half-suspect it’s being paid for its performance. On the inside of the door, a note reads: “Survive the night, and the path shall be revealed.”
Very encouraging.
But you’ve come this far. So you take a deep breath, muster your courage, and in you go.
Inside, it looks as though the furniture and the cobwebs have been in a long, deeply dysfunctional relationship. The air is thick and stale. You set up a makeshift camp in the dusty entrance hall, brushing aside a chair that may or may not be structurally supported by spider silk.
The night is still—too still. It’s the kind of silence that suggests the forest itself is holding its breath.
Then, somewhere around the time when dreams start to blur into unease, a faint rustling wakes you. Three shadows stand before you, utterly motionless—like statues. Before your heart can sprint directly out of your chest, one of them lights a match.
“There you are at last,” he says, his voice somewhere between relief and mild annoyance.
“We knew you’d come.”
At first glance, the figures seem threatening. But on second thought—and under better lighting—they’re mostly just odd. And maybe even a little friendly in a sleep-deprived, chaotic kind of way. Without a word, they lead you up the creaking staircase. Above you, an old chandelier flickers with theatrical menace, as if auditioning for a ghost opera. You begin to make out their faces: one man, two women.
“Why all the ghost warnings?” you ask, trying not to sound too nervous. The woman with paint splatters on her face smirks. “Oh, the signs keep the curious away. We work better at night. No interruptions. No nosy noses. Just us and our glorious mess.”
Then they introduce themselves.
Hiram, the architect, gestures grandly toward an ancient tome resting on a lectern.
“HTML is my language,” he declares. “I’ll show you how to build foundations that don’t crumble when someone sneezes.”
Seraphina, the artist, twirls a paintbrush through the air and catches it with practiced flair.
“CSS is my thing. Colour, structure, and just a touch of madness. I turn chaos into elegance.”
Morrigan, the mage, rises slowly from an armchair with the air of someone who has seen far too many code errors at three in the morning.
“JavaScript brings things to life,” she says, her voice calm and deep. “With the right tricks, you can make the invisible… seen.”
She crosses her arms and gives you the kind of look usually reserved for apprentices and unpaid interns.
“You’ve now met the three Keepers of Knowledge. Their teachings have filled your spellbook with secrets. But what you do with them—that’s up to you.”
She points to the three rooms at the end of the hallway.
“Go to Hiram first. Then Seraphina. Then me.
If you complete all three, we’ll meet downstairs again. And then I’ll give you the next waypoint Bastet left behind.”
You enter the sacred halls of the Architect
Hiram Abif, master architect of the Web, eyes you with the sort of look usually reserved for unstable scaffolding. “Well then,” he grumbles, “it’s time to unravel the world of HTML elements. And yes, before you ask—it’s exactly as complicated as it sounds.” A tiny smirk flickers across his face. He’s clearly enjoying this more than he lets on.
“HTML is like the blueprint of a cathedral,” he explains, handing you an ancient scroll that smells faintly of dust, ink, and stubbornness. “Every stone, every pillar must be in its proper place. With these building blocks, you can create your own world.”
Within these halls, you shall:
- Lay the foundations of HTML, as if you were building a cathedral from pixels
- Decipher the mystic code that holds the Web together (and hopefully keeps it from collapsing)
- Master the elements, like a mage finally learning the proper incantations
“No shortcuts here,” Hiram says, his tone suddenly serious. “But if you grasp the fundamentals, the architecture of the Web will be yours to command.”
Enter the Realm of Colour and Shape Magic
The moment you step into the room, you’re hit by a swirling storm of colour. The walls shimmer and pulse as if the laws of design had gone out for tea and left chaos in charge. Amid the spectacle stands Seraphina—the CSS artist—with a wide grin and a paintbrush that looks like it’s been through at least three revolutions and one very passionate argument about gradients.
“Welcome to my world of creativity!” she calls, twirling her brush. With a flick of her wrist, the room bursts into even more colour. “There are no strict lines here, no fixed rules. CSS is like magic—you will be shaping anything you can imagine!”
In this room, you shall:
- Wield the tools of CSS like enchanted wands
- Arrange colours and forms to reflect your personal style
- Unleash your inner artist—with a splash of madness and a lot of imagination
Seraphina holds out her brush with a flourish.
“Come on! Let’s make the world fabulous!”
Enter the Alchemy Lab of the Mage
Inside the steamy depths of the alchemy lab, Morrigan awaits—the JavaScript sorceress. Her cloak is slightly singed, and there’s a faint scent of burned code lingering in the air.
She eyes you carefully.
“Ah, the new apprentice,” she murmurs. “Come in—but tread carefully. Not everything that bubbles in here is harmless. JavaScript is no simple craft. It’s the alchemy of the Web.” The lab is a glorious mess of books, bottles, and blinking consoles. “JavaScript is the art of breathing life into websites,” she explains with a grin. “But forget a single dot—and the whole thing might explode.”
Just as you’re about to dive headfirst into the bubbling cauldron of code, she raises a hand and gestures to the door.
“Not so fast,” she says firmly. “You don’t get to play with the dangerous stuff until you’ve done your HTML and CSS homework. But if you’re ready… I’ll teach you a few of my tricks. And maybe even offer you an internship.”
Farewell in the Morning Light
The first rays of sunlight slip through the broken windows of the villa, and the scent of dew-soaked grass drifts in on a quiet breeze. In the entrance hall, Hiram, Seraphina, and Morrigan await you.
“You’ve done well,” says Hiram with a respectful nod. “Remember: a solid structure is the foundation of everything. Keep your bearings.”
Seraphina grins and twirls her brush like a wand.
“Creativity takes courage. Don’t be afraid to colour outside the lines—and invent something entirely new.”
Morrigan steps forward, raising a glowing vial that shimmers like morning fire.
“Magic lies in the details,” she says. “Keep the big picture in mind, but don’t lose sight of the little things.”
She presses the vial into your hand. It glows like bottled sunlight.
“This talisman will guide you when the path grows uncertain.”
With one final glance, you bid farewell to the Keepers.
As the villa slowly fades into the golden morning, you feel it deep within your bones:
You’re ready to continue your journey.