This is a fictional account of something that happened a very long time ago and is no way real. I swear. The spiders are not real. Do not count.
This book is mostly diagrams written in some foreign tongue, with a few typed pages of translations. I have scanned the diagrams and retyped the translations.
Quotes are the translations, brackets  are words I can't make out, so I am guessing.
"These are the notes of Melzi, friend of the scribe. [accountant] for the [market]. Behold that which I am not meant to remember. Each night, I draw, and so remember all."
"I work the market. I am the [accountant?]. I count things. I count apples. I count pears. I count pigs. I count people. I count sellers. I count buyers. I count booths. I count tables. I am very good at counting. I do not err, and I do not forget."
"This morning I awoke and saw a spider web. It was not there when I laid down. My room is clean. There is no spider. I counted the web. Each count though, was wrong. First fourty, then thirty, then fifteen, then five. The web shrank as I counted."
"I again counted, and this time the web was [gone]. In its place, a large spider. I counted its legs. Eight, then Seven, then Six. With each count, they disappeared. My eyes wander. I draw them back.
Does my counting drive them away?"
The spider is gone. There is a [thing]. Like a ball. Inside it is another thing, like a spider. But its face is like mine. I think it is asleep."
Yes it is asleep. I carefully draw it here, as I see it clearly now. Before, as I looked, my eyes looked away. But now I can see it. Suspended in its web of [aside, sideways?] thought.
My drawing wakes it up. It is angry, and surprised I can see it. It lashes out, and is ensnared in its web. It blinks at me, and I want to look away. But there are so many things to count. I count them and look back. But I want to look aside again.
Fearful I, leave my room and head to the market. It is night. I do not remember so well, but my drawings tell me otherwise. Then I remember. Here is my street. I count the roads. And now I can see. This is not right.
I see them now. They walk along the roads. Every road. They are everywhere. The people cannot see them. Some flat ones seem to float, some tall ones stand at the edges of the woods. Some small ones, like my spider, walk behind people.
"The tall ones walk near the tree line of sleep, and reach down into my thoughts. They are mad I remember, but say no one will care. They gave me a spider. Only important people get spiders. They thought I was important because I am feared."
"I told the constable about the spiders. His was different. It would fly like a [cicada]. He did not believe me, so I counted it. I did not look away. Soon it feel asleep, and the constable sought to end it with his knife. They fought, and it struck him."
"At once, the constable stopped fighting, and turned to me, screaming at me to forget. Look away and do not tell the others. His spider still held him, with its hand. I think the spider spoke through him. They were not his words."
"I return home. My spider looks at me. I count at it. It sleeps. When it sleeps, I can get close. I touched its hand once, and we shared a [meal] of [thought]. I laughed at his appearance. It has become resolved that I know its face, and I do not forget."
"Tonight, I watched the tall ones. I first thought them trees. No, they are not trees. They are trees that should not be there. They stand among the trees so they do not need webs. The tall ones reach down into the flat ones and take their thoughts."
"My spider, as it wakens, reaches out with its [mind] fingers from the back of its head. They reach into [directions] with them. When it sleeps, its fingers fall quiet, like locks of hair"
"The flat ones fly like owls, but slowly. Walking quietly on thin, silent toes, swiftly down the streets, looking in windows. They reach out with [arms]] and touch the houses. The spiders too reach out, they talk through the walls. They talk every night."
"My spider bores of repetition. I found him by counting. I counted spider webs. Each time, the number changed. Then my spider slept, and I could see. So now I count aloud to ten, then start over. Many times. And now it is now asleep, so I study it."
He is beautiful when he sleeps. It likes blue light. I touched its hand. Frail. We shared a [meal] of thoughts. It does not want to be here. Its home is blue, like moonlight. It sees the moon and wants to go home. Here the blue is only from the moon"
"For a moment while my spider slept, I thought I [knew his mind]. He did not want to be here. He wanted to be home, where it is blue all the time, and where the [large friends] walk in daylight. "
"I stood near it and looked aside. But I counted its parts. I counted the eyes. The neck. My counting is always right. A spider is more than one. I think, a head spider and a body spider at least. I do not know. Someone is coming so I must stop writing."
"Tonight, my spider is frail and withering. The counting I thought made it sleep, is now making it feeble. Its eyes have sunk deep, and its color is ashen now. The flat one seemed concerned when it came tonight."
"My spider fell silent today. It was was taken away. I don't know what this is, maybe a doctor? A mortician?"
"The flat ones have wings. They float down at night and walk the streets. They reach out and touch the houses, and the spiders talk to them through the walls. They grasped my spider as a child, and flew away tonight. I hope he will go home."
I follow to the meadow. This giant rests there, and stands in the moonlight at the center of the field. This harvester, it walks between the towns. The tall ones go to it. My spider is brought forth, and all enter its mouth. I follow."
"My spider is placed atop a device. It is torn asunder. At first I dread its fate. But then I see the [halls?] beyond and see its brethren.
"In a room near the table, I saw them. All like my spider's visage, one after another. They took my spider's head there, and placed it amongst its friends. It smiled at me.
This was disturbing. I hid in the shadow, then went to the [hallway?].
"The halls were endless. Tonight I might sleep here. They are empty. I am not safe, but I cannot find my way out. I will draw until I sleep. There is no sound here. There is blue light, which comes from the ground. I am now sleepy."
"I am awake. I did not sleep here. I do not know where I am. There is sound here. There are things moving in the walls. There is a sound like a whispering [crowd?]."
"A new thing found me, I know the spiders fear it. Like a master. It is [serpent], not spider. It wears a second skin, like the serpent [sheds its skin]. But the new skin is [confusing]. It is as if there are three faces, each seeing a different [path?].
[the serpent] heads witness me. It touches me with its hands, cold and wet, and shares a [meal?] of thoughts. It was concerned that I could see and not forget. It blinked at me many times, but then grew [angry] and struck me.
"I awoke in the field. The large beast was gone. The tall beasts were gone. All was silent. But I could see the moon had webs. I count them to myself, and they fall away. I can see the beast. Silent, in the air above. Watching.
I return home. "
I returned to the market today. I did not see them at first. They were all gone. And then I counted. I counted Apples. I counted Pears. Then I saw them.
"Today at market I saw another spider. They look like us, but not like us close. The web around them turns eyes aside. Close up, you do not look at them, because you are unwilling.
There are several in the market today. They are looking for something."