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I support this thread.

bump because i fucklol'd at OP's pic

Four score years past, I found mineself ambling along a cobbled path, for mine carriage hath a broken wheel, and I hear another carriage approacheth me from behind so I then raised my thumb upwards to request of a trip to the next village with the kind driver. The carriage pulled over yet when I began to rise into the side designated for passengers, the bones of another man lay there.

Once apon a time man suffered constant and unstoppable exsanguination. 'Twas thee.

The town crier hath proclaimed that the persons who have endured torturous acts for besmirching the King's name, during the act, dreameth of a fantasy world from which they are not able to arise, for in this world the victim hath lived in a world which is said to resemble the earth they hath departed from, although no torturous acts were being performed, for they had not disgraced themselves. The solitary method which they require to ARISE was parchment they found in their new world. On this parchment a scribe hath scribed their ills, and request of them to ARISE. If they received these scrolls, they would linger for a further half dozen months until they are of the setting to return to the departed world and PLEASE ARISE.

>>4216895
I LOVE YOU

Mine cousin and I were travelling from Greenwich to London, and we hath heard proclamations of ghastly forests. The proclamation tells of a merchant and his carriage of wheat hath collided with another man who hath stopped to feed his horse. The carriage was travelling with much speed, so much so that the man and horse hath not the time to move from the way. All present had died. It was approaching dusk when we found ourselves passing through a deep forest, we stopped to replenish our energy, on the placement the man and horse had died on. We were of the anxious and frightened disposition, and expected a horrendous event. When we were departed once again for London, the noises of a carriage surrounded us. At this point in time we could do little except to grasp each other in fear and shriek and curse the Heavens. This period hath lasted for a few minutes, however it seemed about forever. We broke our leisurely pace in an attempt to save ourselves. Once we decided to stop again, we glanced at our surroundings, we were in a farming field.

MOAR BUMP

>>4216895
which one is this? king come down? i dont recognize it

>>4217019
It's the one where you get the note "Please wake up"

and then it so happened a bare framework of one man revealed itself.

A young man was travelling to his home on a dark night when suddenly another man revealed himself from a small side street. The youth made ready to attack, however the man did not seem malicious. Upon further inspection of the man's wares, it appeared he was a beggar. A somewhat comedic tapestry of a beggar. Filthy hair and a ragged tailcoat...and a small can for collecting donations. It seemed quite extraordinary for a beggar, he thought.
"What doth thou request of me" he asked.
"The earth is approaching an end," said the beggar. "I require thine aid."
The youth continued onwards, not phased by this man. Tipsy on ale, he thought. The beggar tailed him and began to walk alongside.
"I require thine aid, if you are so kind enough as to give it to me," said the beggar.
"I am sorry, sir, but I am not interested in aiding your desires," the youth replied, and continued on his journey.
The beggar propped himself against the cathedral gates, observing the youth as he faded into the distance. The beggar did not find himself entirely unappeased; many villagers reply the same way. Another king's son, he thought, toying with his moth-eaten gloves.

Hast thou ever taken note of the most perplexing way of which the players title their plays. Tis because of a secret act in the Nativity...

>>4217108
THEN WHO WAS PLAYWRIGHT

>>4217117
inb4 shakespeare

>>4217108
lost episode crappypastas.

i gotcha, but dinnae want

Hast thou ever taken note of the most perplexing way of which Shakespeare hath titled his plays?

He hath refused to account a number of them, leading to inconsistencies. The explanation for this confusion is a missing drama.

Finding details of this drama is a very difficult task to undertake, for Shakespeare doth not desire to converse on the topic. In the writing of this play, he was proclaimed to be behaving strangely and he rarely spoke, even to his relations. If you instead speak to his relations about this, they will become enraged and forbid you of mentioning this to him. The play was named "Ode to a Harlot" however it was thrown into the Thames and replaced with "Romeo and Juliet".

After one of his plays, I proceeded to the gallery, where Shakespeare himself was viewing. I questioned him on the subject of "Ode to a Harlot". He paled considerably, and speedily scribbled something on a piece of parchment. He placed it in my hands and pleaded to not mention this again.

The parchment contained the address of what I assumed was the house of a fair maiden. I arrived in my formal best and ventured forth into her stately home. On a small wooden table there existed a jar with bundle of pages inside it, however this was clouded by a mist of some sort. No maiden was present in this house so I allowed myself to open the jar. I took out the bundle when mine throat began to close up and my bowels flushed onto the stone floor. Mine head felt like it was made of stone and I collapsed onto the table.

One score days later I awoke to find a nurse tending to me. She informed me of mine terrible sickness and reassured mine troubled mind that I would survive this incident. I arose and before me lay the pages I had removed from the jar. In thin yellow script the title read "Ode to a Harlot".

Act One was on the subject of a young boy and his matriarch who are travelling to France on a ship. However, during Act One, his mother had unfortunate luck and was dropped into the ocean after raising herself to the crow's nest. At the commencing of his playwright career, Shakespeare considered that he should dramatise life and convey that death provided a more realistic experience for the theatre-goers. Turning the page in hopes of Act Two, I instead found a depiction of a maiden's corpse, rotting and being devoured by hungry maggots, and to view for the first time it struck me as being not of pencil but of reality.

Act Two began the downward slope of the child's happiness and mental health, his reactions to friends and strangers seeming all the more rude and impudent each time. There was another depiction of a boy surrounded by a few other gentlemen and maidens. Once again this picture looked of reality, they were lacrimating heavily.

Beginning to feel afraid, I continued to Act Three, where I was met with bold print alerting me to the fact that a dozen months had progressed since the previous Act. This Act consisted purely of drawings, firstly of the youth and the gentlemen and maidens who had been found in Act Two, although in this instance they were thin, their frameworks pressing through their skin.

The next depiction was of the youth at his matriarch's graveside, mourning. A line of text emblazoned the bottom of this page, although someone hath laid their finger heavily on this and traced across it, leaving an undecipherable mess behind. Once more, this was extremely convincing to be of real life, and I was in complete and utter shock.

A list of names was inscribed on the behind of this page, names of persons I had not acquainted mineself with. I recognised some, with dates accompanying their names which I knew to be their deaths. The reverse of this play contained a drawing of the young boy seated on a cliffside, lacrimations soaking his arms, legs and the surrounding environment.

In the evening, while I was dining with a few accomplices, a thought occurred to me that I may benefit from utilising the dates beside each name on that play as a hint of their deaths. There was a funny mystery around it, not comedic, but strange, all the names contained the same date.

>>4217108
>>4217117
>>4217120
>>4217127
Here, have some Lost Episode OC.

bump

moar stories

There once existed a child who enjoyed reading literature. He read all within his reach and adored a certain merchant of books. On one instance, the child had come to the realisation that he had viewed upon all the merchant had to offer. He inquired as to find any literature he had not yet had the pleasure of reading. The merchant answered "Verily" and produced from behind him a piece of work entitled "Death". He happily vended this to the child for a cost of 5 gold but it came with a warning from the merchant never to gaze upon the first page.

The child returned to his home and began to read his newly bought literature. There was the question of what existed on that front page and it plagued his mind frequently. On another instance, the temptation proved too much for the boy to contain and he turned to the forbidden page, emitting a scream shrill enough to wake the owls of the King's castle. There, in fine, black ink, were the words: "Cost of 5 silver".

/r/ someone to do the creatures masterpiece

i'd try and do it myself, but i'd probably fuck it up

Verily bump.

>>4217370
link pl0x

>>4217376

i dont have a link, but everyone on /x/ has the .jpg pasta...should be good enough yeah?

>>4217423
I shalt consider the options placed before me on the subject of this matter.

I have been slumbering for what seems to me around two hours. Through the window of my room of slumber I can view the sundial set in the town square. The shadow tells me that the day has just passed halfway to six in the morning. However, what is troubling me most about this situation is that I am in the same enclosure as my elders. They are continually staring at me and I feel I have no other choice but to look back, resisting the foul temptations to lacrimate or wail with an intensity to arouse the town crier. A disgusting stench of sanguine reaches my nostrils and I am frozen in my position with fright.

The point I am trying to convey is that I am convinced that if I give signs that I have awoken, I will be placed into peril. Mine life will have been taken, for the knights are within the castle on the hillside. I have decided to make use of mine precious time to construct a plan for exile. However, upon thinking back over this plan, I realise that my only hope for solitude is to alert those in the neighbouring houses by propelling mineself along the cobbled streets, proclaiming of a need for aid.

I then lie and touch upon the issues of which is better, to remain in a position in which I am perceived to be dreaming, or to announce to everybody. The cause of this terror is awaiting my awakening for me to view upon his handiwork.

Allow me to explain to you what on earth is taking place, I do have a tendency to progress quickly.

Earlier in the morning, still during the hours of darkness, a shriek pierced the air from the opposite side of mine dwellings. I believed it of mineself to investigate this disturbance, but I first must relieve my bladder. I did so, using a small bowl placed beneath my bed as was the fashion at this period of time. I may have been eliminated at this point, but instead I remained conscious and looked from the doorway. Vicious red had blotted the floorboards. Startled, I hurried mineself to mine room and tried to sink into a slumber once more, and convince mineself that it was a terrible dream I hath had.

The door leading into mine room swung forward. Being terrified, I did not glance upwards from where I lay, but peered from beneath mine coverings to look upon mine deceased elders advancing further into mine place of slumber by the hand of some other. The thing had no hair upon its skin, it also had no eyeballs in its sockets and was bare-fleshed. The walk and appearance of this frightening thing reminded me of a peasant in one of the farms Father had worked on. However, I believe this thing was not of the human sort. It was very intelligent, it appeared to me as if to know what it was undertaking.

This creature lay my patriarch along the edge of mine bed and my matriarch in a nearby stool in a corner of this room. Her face gazed towards mine own. The creature proceeded to emblazon the walls, ridding its hands of previous blood which had lay there. After this task, it then drew a circle, or some variety of round shape, and placed the pentagram of Satan, whom I had only previously learned about in teachings at the cathedral. Had this not been a deadly encounter, the mess upon the walls could be considered a fine work. It also included a notice on the wall which I could not read in the surrounding gloom. The creature then moved beneath mine bed, in hopes of removing mine life next.

The most frightening aspect at the current moment is that I am now able to read the message on the wall. I do not wish to view it, for it fills mine mind with fear to linger on. However, it feels to be my duty to view it before I too am deceased.

I take a glimpse.

"I know now that thou hast arisen from thine slumber."

>>4217495
>>4217526
>>4217576

lol yes, tyvm anon

>>4217597
You're welcome :)

Let's have moreeeeee

bump

Someone please do suicidemouse

I bumpeth thee.

One more bump.

Joseph Ducreux supports this thread.

I do remember an occasion in which I entered a home which is said to be riddled with ghosts. They were all not of reality, although I did glimpse one. It was a frightening experience.

This young maid was trying to drift off to sleep when she felt something a-playeth upon her cheek. A man was exhaling onto her, and as she tried to shift her body she found she could not The young maid was extremely unnerved. It then began to disappear from her. However, when she awoke the next day, she found that all other inhabitants of her home hath been sliced up.

Once upon a time, a young boy by the name of Tom was seated in his class, learning numeracy. The educative day would soon end. While he was attempting to complete his numeracy work, something took his fancy.

His desk was placed next to his window, and he moved himself so that he may be able to peer to the gardens of his house. His sight fell upon a fine drawing of a young woman. He rushed to this picture when he got the chance. It depicted a young woman, her hand raised in a waving gesture. She was garbed in a black dress.

She was particularly beautiful, so much so that he inquired to his fellow schoolmates about her existence. All those who faced his inquiry responded "Unfortunately not". The youth was downtrodden.

He inquired of his siblings at home, who replied "Unfortunately not". He placed the picture by his bedside and fell asleep.

In the dark of night, young Tom was awoken by a gentle tapping on his window. He also heard some tittering. He approached his window, although the disruption vanished when he opened it forth onto the streets.

The following day, he inquired once more about this female's existence. His neighbouring villagers and mother replying "Unfortunately not". Again he placed it by his bedside and fell asleep.
The disturbances came again, and this time when he approached his window, the fair maiden was situated across the street, her hand held up in the waving gesture. He grabbed the image and hurried to meet her, only to be struck by a horse and carriage.

The driver lifted the image so that he may view it, and in it he saw a young female, her hand raised into a waving gesture, with the index finger of her other hand raised too.

You are in your place of dwelling by thineself, your maid upstairs tending to your beds. You remember the words of the town crier as he crieth forth of a killer on the loose. You gaze from your window at a man stood in the snow at the front gates of your home. He seems to be what the cries hath told of and, alerted, you begin to shout for aid. You look back out towards the gates and see he is standing much closer now, a grin upon his face.

You calleth again, only to break off in slow realisation, that the killer hath not been in thine garden the entire time, there are no footprints present in the snow. It was the reflection of the killer in your window.

Twas a dark night and I hath been travelling the streets of the town. Something broke the skin of my neck. I cried forth. I did not know what was present, but I may have been able to guess very correctly, for the same night I became a creature of the blood.

"Father."

Thou dost awaken to the sound of thy daughter's mournful voice. Thou sitteth up in thine bed, and wipe thine eyes to see clearly into the murky shadows which surround thee.

"Father, I had a most awful dream."

"Thou canst get into mine bed and tell of thy dream, an thou wishest," thou sayeth, in the hopes of soothing thy frightened child.

"Nay, father. I dare not, for in mine dream when I did tell you of it, the dread thing which wore mine mother's skin sat up."

Thou dost feel a chill in the air around thee, as the bed covers behind the begin to shift.

... I love this thread so much.

Archive!

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This thread has been requested 2 times now.

The Lady doth protest too much, methinks.

When I was young, mine family hath decided to abandon our old home and move to a new one. It contained two storeys, with large, vacant rooms and wooden floorboards that emitted a creak when stepped upon. One night it was nearing nightfall when I hath returned to this dwelling. I hath called out for mine mother. A response from upstairs: "Verilyyyyyyyy?". I called once more as I ascended to the second storey, I doth receiveth the same reply: "Verilyyyyyyyy?". I did not know my way around this huge enclosure, although the sound hath appeared to come from a room at the end of the long hallway. I was feeling queasy, her presence would sootheth me so I proceeded to the room I thought mine mother was in. I placed mine hand upon the handle when a voice rang up the stairs: "Darling, dost ye reside within?". I was scared out of my wits and ran to meet mine matriarch. I glanced back at the room I perceived her to be within and something doth glance back.

>>4217423
Moar like dis plz

>>4222759
This is for medieval pastas.

archive this shit

Ye doth come into possession of an old container. Within ye doth find numerous glass vials, encrusted with dust and minute pieces of gravel or cement. The vials are inscribed with places and dates such as “Cornwall 17th July 1850?, “London 6th July 1851? and “Hull 17th July 1863?". A visit to the house of literature confirms to thou that all are dates of horrific fires. Within a few short days, a messenger arrives, presenting thou with a box with thine name written on it.

Contained within is yet another vial inscribed with thine town of dwelling and a shortly upcoming date.

Hath thou ever viewed a person die on stage?
These travesties are titled "Morbid Plays" and they are written for the intention of entertaining a demented audience. Self-murder and accidental incapacitations are not equal to this. Many village folk would proclaim that these morbid plays do not exist. All plays thou may hath viewed in this fashion are trickery and sometimes they are created for a sick excitement.

Mine friends, thou hath been made a fool of.
There exists around two score morbid plays. The earliest is a play with no playwright name, entitled "Doth thou accost to thine heart", where a female actress is struck through her heart in front of a sickened audience. It is dated 184-. The last number is absent. The most recent occurence, judging by the attire, is assumed to have been created in 1890 or 1891 and is ten acts in length.

The plays have differing levels of foulness, although they are filled to the brim with sexual relations, soon followed by the demise of a fair maiden with light hair and blue eyes of much intensity. She is only passing into her womanly years. Every play contains the same girl.

Bump.

This is hilarious. What will my /x/ think of next?

Thanks for your request.
It has been added to our database and the thread will be archived as soon as enough request for that thread have been made.
This thread has been requested 4 times now.

We only need 3 more!

Discoveries by educated scholars appointed by the King revealed that no possible reasoning can explain "nightmares".

Dreams may come from temptations and desires, but nightmares appear to stem from the persons affected by them and their environment. When folk are requested to speaketh of a nightmare, they appear to be located in the brain section which contains thine real memories.

What, thou hath requested of me, doth this mean?
Those frightening creatures and beings thou see in thine dreams...

...they doth exist.

Someplace in Wales, there exists a collection of texts. Perhaps it is placed on a dusty shelf in the town crier's home; perhaps it is placed in a set of musty boxes in the rooms beneath ground in a minuscule house of literature. Within, thou doth find hundreds of volumes, all written by the hand of a person, ranging from tightly-rolled scrolls with yellowing pages to ten score years old books, their spines so carelessly worn. A few of them thou may even find to be of recent appearance. All of them are diaries, some by celebrated men, some by peasants, but all are written by the hands of lunatics and killers, some of the worst this earth has ever known. Believeth it or not, it is expanding still. If thou doth findeth these tomes, thine ears will hear a scratching sound, emanating from the most recent volume of this terrible set. Almost all of the pages of this volume will be blank pages, except for the first. On this first page, thou will find the beginning of thine own diary, written in thine own hand.

2 more requests needed.

Once upon a time there dwelled a young girl and her mother in a mansion and in that mansion lay a thousand dead bodies in the rooms below ground. One day, the little girl decided: “I shalt venture forth to retrieve mine doll from below ground.” (it lay in there with a female ghost), however, only the mother had knowledge of the ghosts that remained there, for she was the reason they were deceased! AGH!!!!!!

>>4223816
lol'd

It hath been many a week since mine bales of barley crept from mine residence.

This tale is of how mine existence t'was robustly altered and inverted. So lend me thine ears, and I will sing to thee of how I came to the throne in the country of Bel-Aire.
I was birthed, not in the county nameth'd Philadelphia, but west of there, where I spent my youth out on the commons. My life knew'th no toil, and I held myself pompous and proud, whilest engaging with my fellow youths in a rousing game of ball, close to the University. One afternoon fair, though, a gaggle of vagabonds challenged me to a skirmish, thus terrifying my poor mother. So, she arranged for my ascension to the throne in Bel-Aire, under her sister and spouse.
I arrived at the manor around supper, and ordered my page to retire from'th my presence. I lay'd eyes on the ramparts, the spires, and the land surrounding, and gleefully accepted my throne, as the Prince of Bel-Aire.

It is present - at the edge of slumber. When ye doth acquire a feeling of falling or spinning, just before ye doth falleth into dream. I request of thou, the next time you desireth to sleep, grasp that feeling tight. As ye slowly drift off, continue grasping. Tight, and listen. Listen intently, for thou cannot hold that feeling for an extended period of time. Present, then, is a sound: a serene hum, a faraway echo; like a shriek in a torture chamber. Listen intently, and save that sound to thine memory. That noise doth be thine final inhalation.

A dozen and one months ago, an acquaintance of mine, who desires to be an artiste, made the decision to spend a day and night on her own in the forests bordering our town. Her wish was to obtain drawings of the forests and of God's little creatures as close to nature as she doth able to for her works. She had no fear of her solitary position, as she had undertaken such a thing many a time in the past. She set up a little leaf-bed so that she may acquire some sleep and used the rest of her day to draw. She managed to use up four rolls of parchment, but when she hath went and prepared them for her presentation, she hath found four images that troubled her. It appeared that these four images were drawn from her bedside, of her in a quiet sleep in the dark of night.

Each time thou exhaleth, a tiny piece of your soul doth escape. Fortunately, thou will most likely inhaleth it back before any other man obtains it. Almost.

Hath thou ever misted a mirror with thine exhalations?

Please refrain from doing so. The bony structure of another man will reveal itself to you.

THEN THE BONES OF A MAN SHOWED THEMSELVES!

Henry VIII supporteth this collection.

Bumping for excellence.

There exists an ancient inn that has been situated in the same spot for hundreds of years. If the innkeeper permits thee to stay in the sixth room thou would discover thineself to be in a strange place, and at exactly a quarter past midnight. the light of your candle, if thou hast lit one, will extinguish and thou shalt find thineself in darkness. If thou chooseth to remain conscious throughout the night, thou shalt find nothing occurs. However, if ye so decide to close thine eyes and sleep, thou shalt discover thineself in an indescribable pit of despair, where alarmingly enormous creatures do roam free. Ye shalt be confined in this state until dawn. It hath been cried that this room contains the entry to Satan's domain, and demons utilise the condensed wrongdoings of this room to escape to our reality through our own minds. Those who have stayed in this room do not converse much on the topic, for the act of recalling the events of the night will render them complete and utter lunatics.

g e t ninety

>>4226617
FUCK YEAH ROFL

Requested 6 times now. C'mon, archive this slice of greatness!

>>4224132
Continue...

bamp

Please do not ask of me to recall the following, for I fear for mine life. I hath one request: do not repeat this to other folk, however spooks have decided it is time to do battle with the living. Thou shalt die. Sometimes thou will, sometimes thou willn't. The deceased and sanguine surrounding you. Mineself hath had mine life removed not even an hour ago, and soon the time will be nigh for ye to join me!

>>4216791
I lol'd hard

In the midst of the King's Castle exists a stairwell. Should ye choose to descend this stairwell, ye shalt come upon a weighty wooden door. Rappeth twice, and await an answer. A voice will inquire: "How doth thine garden grow?"

If ye respond "With water and care" ye will hear no more, even if ye wait a thousand years.
However, if ye respond "With blood and lacrimations" the door shalt swing upon its hinges, admitting you inwards.

Thou shalt never return.

The eyes of a feline are said to allow said feline to glance into thine soul. They can see other worlds within and view thine aura, and your ailments. A feline knows when thou art pleased, when thou art struck with an illness, when thou art in need of aid, or when thou art close to starvation. It doth know when thou art feeling extremely courageous, and it knows when thou art on the brink of death.

It's fortunate for all that these feline friends cannot converse in a recognisable language, for thou hast a number of secrets. The feline knows.

Sir Stalvern waited. The lantern in his hand flickered, though no wind was present.
The most frightful devils of Hell were loose in the manor. He could not lay his eyes upon these monstrosities, but he had known for many a season that their arrival was nigh. The duke Joson had neglected to heed his warning, and now the hour of reckoning had come.

A dozen and two years had passed since the knighting of sir Stalvern. As a lad, he had watched the mighty warriors on their steeds, and said to his father; "Come the day when I am raised to adulthood, I shall surely be knighted by his Majesty". His father cried; "Nay! If thou become knighted, surely foul MONSTROSITIES will SLAY thee!"

For many a moon, sir Stalvern had thought the words of his father to be truth, although over the years he had ceased to do so. But at present, in the dark outside of the manor, sir Stalvern had nary a doubt in the existence of the devils.

Sir Stalvern heard the duke Joson cry out: "Thou must slay these abominations!", so he produced his rapier and his flintlock pistol and kicked open the manor gates.
"THIS FAIR KNIGHT HAS SURELY COME TO VANQUISH US!", cried the devils.
"Verily he shall fall by my hand", one ghoul exclaimed, and pulled the trigger of his musket. Sir Stalvern fired his pistol; however, a stray shot hit the chandelier. It fell in such a way that sir Stalvern was pinned down, thus not being able to properly vanquish the foul demons.
"Nay! It is my duty to exterminate the ungodly atrocities!", cried the knight. He hear duke Joson again, uttering "Verily, sir Stalvern, thou art too of the Dark Lord's minions."
And it was so, that sir Stalvern himself was a creature of the night.

Hahaha, I love you /x/.
Especially
>>4229327

>>4229327
I believe thou doth win many internets, good sir Anon.

This isn't as good as the whole "Russian creepypasta" thing but I chuckled a bit.

François Ravaillac, slaughterer of His Majesty King Henry IV, did face the separation of his body by four of the King's horses for his devastating act on the 27th of May, 1610. During the search of his home for personal items and treasures, the Frenchmen hath uncovered a golden coin, emblazoned with the face of, not King Henry IV, but of a figure who remains unknown to this day.

The folk talk of the nasal workings and of smell being in connections with memory. Visit a King's auction or searcheth for a dusty antiquity vendor. Thou will surely come across an item manufactured in a time period long before thou were begat to this earth. Ascertain that it is quite clean and in a new condition, however almost-new will suffice. Purchase this item and take it to a place of no or little wind or scent. Begin to smell the item, the many scents flowing through your nose may give thou a sudden ability to remember days of yore.

If thou hast chosen wisely, said item shalt giveth onto thee the power to view back into time before thou roamed the land.

Thou awaken after a night of merriment and festivities to discover that, during the hours thou hath fallen unconscious, thou hath an image of a contented face inscribed onto thine foot.

Thou promise thineself to not fall unconscious like this for a second time. However, the next time thou awaketh, thou now discover the face is inscribed on thine ankle, and the quality of said image hast improved. Soon after, it begins to progress upwards on thine leg, becoming clearer and even clearer still. During its periods of movement and improvement of quality, thou ponder the time when it reaches thine face.

Pusheth.

More, damn you!

Doth thou recall the great works of William Shakespeare? He hath only just released his latest play. I hear tells of a "forbidden" play, written by his own hand, which consists of nothing bar a female suspended by a hook ripped through her throat above a stage designed like the butcher's slaughter-works. Sometimes thou might hear a cheery tune played throughout one of his plays, in this there is a miserable pianist, banging on the undeserving piano for the duration. Soon, the audience doth become relieved of this scene when a man saunters onto the stage, holding a sharpened knife. The relief of the audience doth not linger considerably as this man, whomever he is, commences skinning the female, throwing her skin offside while he doth continue to bare her bones. The pianist begins to wail and cry out, throwing his head against the keys. The stranger man onstage rises to his feet and doth begin to roll his own eyes to the back of his head. Creatures are told to shift in the darkness of the theatre aisles. The maiden, whom we now assume is deceased, lifts to her elbows and shrieks with enough force to tremble the houses of parliament.

Shakespeare's most cherished companion was allowed to view this no doubt endearing spectacle, although he doth stormeth out, sickened by what he had just witnessed.

A theatre worker, who hath only recently began his services there, sneaked a viewing and immediately ran to the town crier, grasping his bell and ringing to the townfolk: "REAL SUFFERING DOTH NOT BE KNOWN TO THEE" and then proceeded to impale himself on the railings of the cathedral.

Shakespeare's companion doth speaketh to me, and he hath told me that Shakespeare walked onstage and began to speak forth in a tongue he did not know of. He repeated this message many times before bathing in the blood spilled by the young maiden.

This play has not been touched by any hands other than William Shakespeare's, however, it does not seem possible to, for the script cannot be located.

Twas mine first day in the village school and my companion, Jane and I were taught by Miss. Featherbottom. She was not a horrible educator, but we hath heard tales of her affliction with dentistry in females. One Monday, I hath had mine teeth healed by the village curer. It did not trouble me at the time, although now when I review mine actions, I realise it should have.

Tuesday, Jane's companion, Edith, informeth me that Miss. Featherbottom was preparing to commit horrible acts on me. Again, this did not trouble me.

I paced into the classroom, eager for a day of education, when Miss. Featherbottom rotated to face me, her eyes locked with mine. I grinned, baring my nice teeth. She began to liquidise.

I do not fool with thee, she doth liquidise.

During thine next occurrence of vertical bathing, thou shalt glance at thine reflective glass and see ye that it is obstructed by fog. The thought of purging the fog shalt not cross thine mind; for it may be the only ye shall find that They cannot enter thine mind.

Verily a young damsel didst stay in her manor, with but her loyal hound as her guardian. The town crier didst announce that a murderous brigand 'twas loose in London Towne.

In the witching hours didst the fair lass hear the sound of dripping from the powder roome. She reached her frightened hande to the hounde beneath her bed, who didst licke it to comfort her.

Later didst she enter the powder roome to inquire into the sound that she didst hear. Alas, atop the archway didst hang her slain mutt, its bloode dripping to the ground.

On the wall in houndsblood twas written: "MEN TOO DOTH LICKE"

Mine flavoured dairy beverage attracteth all the village males to the gardens of mine house, and they doth crieth that it is of much preferable quality to thine. Verily, it is much preferable to thine, I could educate you on these ways but I must levy a fee.

If thou doth so have the time, position thineself before a mirror. If thou dost not wish to besmirch thine soul, use a maid in your place. Thou must confuse the reflection. Speedily obtain a follicle of haire. Approximate the length of the follicle of haire on thine head or thine maid's. The length shalt be more in the reflection.

I implore thee to not return thine gaze upon the mirror.
I also request of thee to not face thine back to the mirror.

>>4231227

Surely you jest.

>>4231838
I can confirmeth that it is not a jest, kind sir, it is all facte and no fiction.

If anyone is wondering, the tapestry at Bayeux is actually a pretty interesting story. It's something like 100 meters long.

>>4231893
Imagine it caught fire...

evilscheme.jpg

Thou hear an entity a-playing upon the handle of thine chamber door. Thou doth rise and approach: "Allow me to enter! Tis I, thine husband!"

Thou approacheth the chamber door when thou hear thine spouse shifting in the blankets of thine bed. Twas not thine husband a-playing on the handle, and it begins to scratcheth upon the door.