Please read carefully
Whether you believe or not! Death Shrouds were meant to save dignity. (RMR CAT 3)
Funeral death shrouds
You can not lie peacefully.
They were discovered behind a false wall, folded with reverent precision, untouched by light or time.
The renovation crew initially mistook the bundles for old linens, forgotten drapery perhaps, or ceremonial cloth stored and abandoned. The fabric was thick, hand stitched, and faintly discolored, carrying the dull ivory of bone rather than age. Only when one bundle loosened did the truth reveal itself: carefully cut openings, measured seams, and faint markings where faces, hands, and feet had once pressed from within. Clearly by the marks on them they had been used.
Funeral shrouds.
No records mentioned them. No graves nearby matched their number. The house itself predated the surrounding town, its purpose unclear, its lower rooms strangely symmetrical, as though designed for procession rather than living. When unwrapped, the shrouds released a cold, stagnant air that smelled of soil and iron. The temperature dropped noticeably, and sound seemed to dull, as if absorbed by the cloth.
They should have been returned. Burned. Buried.
Instead, they were taken home.
The worker claimed they were a curiosity, a relic, a conversation piece. Folded neatly, it was placed in a closet, then later draped over a chair for closer inspection. That night, the house began to change. Footsteps sounded where no one walked. Doors failed to stay closed. The air grew heavy, pressing against the lungs. The shroud no longer lay as it had been left. Its folds shifted. Its seams strained.
Others followed. More shrouds disappeared from the site, each claimed as a trophy, a secret souvenir of something old and forbidden. With each removal, the disturbances intensified not only in the houses they were taken to, but in the renovated building itself. Workers complained of being watched. Some felt hands smoothing their hair, others felt cloth brushing their faces in the dark.
Those who took the shrouds home reported the same dream: standing upright, unable to move, while fabric was drawn over their heads with practiced care. The sensation was not violent. It was methodical. Final.
The haunting no longer lingered quietly. It followed.
The shrouds were not empty vessels, nor were they passive remnants of the dead. They had been made for a purpose, worn with intent, and stored together for a reason. Removed from their resting place, they sought completion. They tightened when touched. They unfolded on their own. They learned the shapes of new bodies.
This introduction serves as a warning.
Some artifacts are not meant to be possessed. Some dead do not stay buried. And some funeral shrouds are still waiting to be worn. Contact was made to the team and Ralph approached with caution....
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