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Shall I bait my meager writing with a tantalizing title?
These gnats stick to the fibers, wriggling about like captured flies in a spider’s web. Their struggle in the open air for all to see.
I’ve always found hypocrisy to be the paramount weakness of a rebellious man. If one chooses to reject, resist and rise against dogmatic ideals, then one must hold themselves equally as accountable as those they criticize.
Unfortunately, my ability does not lie within the gleam of introductions, excuse my impertinence.
You may to refer to me as scribe. I’ve always wanted a nickname.
And for my purposes, we shall call you the participant. Another wild soul upon the insatiable quest for entertainment, a thirst I aim to quench permanently.
Picture me as a cloaked man whose face seems to always be concealed in shadow, even if you saw me today walking down the street you’d never know. I think that’s part of the fun.
I do have one task for you, as the participant. You will be expected to play your part, just like you have wanted to all along. Truly, what’s better than experiencing horror first hand?
Once I saw that Bourdain fellow on the television slurping down pig blood soup and I couldn’t help but salivate. I craved a bowl of my own. Luckily, hogs aren’t too hard to find around here.
I digress.
I wouldn’t be wrong in assuming you are still here to hear a yarn spun by the shadowy scribe, perhaps? It couldn’t be so easy, though, nothing good comes easy. Except, Charlotte, what a pathetic little wench she turned out to be. Too good for her own good. I can’t stand people unable to act, too afraid to cease what they really desire.
Nevertheless, if you are able to muster the courage to take action; a few miles along a beaten carriage road you’ll find a bloated swamp. There is a box hidden beneath a deteriorated fieldstone wall. It’s an old ammunition case, army green peeling paint, you’ll know it when you see it. You have to really look for it. I wouldn’t make it easy. If you are able to pry open the lid, inside you will find a handwritten letter. My story! Or.. our story.
I supposed someone would find it right away if I simply released the coordinates. That would be very anticlimactic. So how about a riddle? I’ve come to learn I speak to an awfully cunning bunch.
There is only one rule. If you find it, you must post it here immediately for all to read. It is crucial you don’t stray from the location in which you found it. Sit your bony or fat bottom down on those lichen encrusted rocks and type it out.
Don’t forget to give credit where it is due. A simple by Penumbral Scribe will suffice. It’s important you hit send before leaving.
Oh, and change the main character’s name to your own.. for accuracy, of course. I hope over time we are all able to appreciate true scary stories.
Here is your clue;
On an Island which connects by roads, A stream would be too small, There lies a wood factory at sweet nodes, Look beneath its crumbling walls.
P.S.