“Who on Earth Is The Scribble Spectre!?”

His name is the wind through dead leaves, his voice is the rattling wheels of a funeral carriage.

He is a scoundrel, a rogue, and a thief. The ghost of a highwayman that perished long winters ago on the Yorkshire moors, he has return to plague the corrupt and tell his dark tale, to anyone who would hear it.

He is just what this country needs. Great Britain is deceased, and The Scribble Spectre might just be the cure.


2 Responses to ““Who on Earth Is The Scribble Spectre!?””

  1. ladyoctober Says:

    A Gendarme came to my door asking for you tonight, and though I feigned a high tide of spirit and volubility, I would not tell him of your whereabouts; for I have sworn to keep that knowledge deep within my breast.
    Outside, the wind howls against the lattice and I pray that you are safe. I should like to see you again, for I do so miss you when you are not around.

  2. scribblespectre Says:

    I had a friend once, to whom I told my story. I suspect he has now carved a name for himself in the world, and i understand one of his songs is based on my experiences.


    The motorway won’t take a horse
    The wanderer has found a course to follow
    The traveller unpacked his bags for the last time
    The troubadour cut off his hand and now he wants mine

    Oh no, not me.

    The circus girl fell off her horse and now shes paralysed
    The hitchiker was bound and gagged, raped on the roadside
    The libertine is locked in jail
    The pirate sunk and broke his sail

    But I still have to go
    I’ve got to go, so here i go
    I’m going to run the risk of being free

    The magicians secrets all revealed
    And the preachers lies are all concealed
    And all our heroes lack any conviction
    They shout through the bars of cliche and addiction

    So i’ve got to go
    I’ve got to go, so here i go
    I’m going to run the risk of being free

    And in this drought of truth and invention
    Whoever shouts the loudest gets the most attention
    So we pass the mic and they’ve got nothing to say except:
    “Bow down, bow down, bow down to your god”
    Then we hit the floor
    And make ourselves and idol to bow before,

    Well i can’t
    And i wont
    Bow down

    No more

    This is a brave soul, one who understands that the only one to trust in this world is himself and his friends.


    In regards to the Seance, I understand you were worried for my safety, but know that i’m am alive and well. The discoveries i made were shocking but they shall recieve print all the same. Thank you for your help, Mistress. As always, it was appreciated more than you know.

    The Spectre

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