Virgil Twobyfour’s Slightly Ominous Invitation to Follow Him Online (Before It’s Too Late)

Well now.
Here we all are, scrolling and sniffing and occasionally pressing buttons like inquisitive ferrets with wifi. And I’ve noticed—just noticed, mind you—that a few of you fine souls haven’t yet followed me. That’s all right. No pressure. None at all. It’s not as if certain ancient clocks hidden beneath the floorboards of the potting shed tick a little louder each time someone doesn’t.

But I will say this:
Those who do follow me have been reporting excellent health, strong root vegetables, and a statistically significant reduction in being pecked by malevolent crows. One chap swears his rash vanished within the hour. Coincidence? Or the power of rustic digital connection?

And let’s be honest—you want to know what happens next in this charmingly cursed village, don’t you? Who took the ferret bell from the steeple? Why is the WI chanting at dusk again? Who keeps posting jars of jam through my cat flap with little teeth marks in the label? These are mysteries for followers. Special followers.

So follow me. Or don’t.
That’s your choice, obviously. Free will, etc.

But just know:

The fog is watching.

The Almanac knows when you scroll past.

And I may or may not have already placed your name in the Book of Mild Disappointments, in the margin beneath “Nigel (unconfirmed).”

Bribes? Oh yes, we’ve got those.

Followers are entered into a random psychic raffle to win:

A ghost-threshed cushion.

A cursed shoehorn.

A heartfelt compliment from the village scarecrow.

My late Aunt Enid’s recipe for Spite Cake (with notes).

An entirely theoretical protective sigil, which may prevent goose attack.

So go on. Tap the button.
Become one of us.
(Us being the ancient society of potato whisperers and inexplicable happenings. There’s a WhatsApp group.)

With love, vague menace, and a pinch of loam,
Virgil Twobyfour
Shwami. Broadcaster. Root-Based Theorist. Follower Appreciator.