PLAGUE

I come from a town that many consider special. 

There is more depth to it than one could even begin to imagine. 

There is a great darkness that hangs over this town, and anyone could fall victim to it next.

 I want to give these ghastly claims some justice. Despite what happens to me, I must track these records as a means of future prevention. 

Anyone could have caused these events, whether they exist in this town or visit from surrounding ones. The origin of the darkness is something we’ll never know.

Some come from the depths of dark forests or from towns far off, beaten and battered. They are sick and anxious for rest. Weary travelers arrive at Conversion Town and venture through the fog before their ears catch the echoing sounds of despair. They arrive at an inn, greeted by the peaceful atmosphere that offered a temporary sanction for the sane. When they leave, they offer their senses and lives to the darkness.

Those who succumb to the darkness walk about, some nestled away in plain sight. Evil grins, knowing they won’t last long, waited in the darkness.  Watchful eyes observe and loom over them like vultures, awaiting them to succumb to their own devices.

‘Someone is looking over your shoulder,’ a resident girl warns them. They cannot leave. The eyes beckon them.

As those who are ignorant leave this place, victims of the darkness sink back into their despair, they know that it doesn’t look good for the travelers. The observant eyes gleam with that irrevocable thought.  The travelers return, getting closer to the maw of the secret. The town’s forlorn chorus rises in crescendo as they return. The song begins, moaning in pain and calling out to the heavens to save them.  It grows louder and louder, never stopping.  The sounds burrow deep into the traveler’s minds and hook into their brains. The darkness leeches their life. It’s grinning within them and they can’t escape. 

People who walk among the darkness are unaware of this.

The travelers grow weak mid-journey.  For some reason, there are less people around than usual. Their stride is progressively slower and they begin to feel twisted. The sick thing is, they don’t mind. They begin to shiver for unknown reasons. Their shadows grow longer as the darkness begins to drain them. If they are lucky, it will all be over with before they understand. 

Some do, and for that few it all makes sense. However, by the time they reach that epiphany, they are already too far gone and their anguished thoughts become food for the dead. No one has uncovered the secret before doom smiled down upon them.

The travelers experience sharp pains and it becomes increasingly harder to breathe. They feel a draft and shiver again. They can sense the blackness grinning at them. All they can do is wade through the fog and drift past the occasional doctor, tending to those who have fallen to the darkness’ grasp.  They know something is wrong. It’s gnawing at them, but they ignore it. They figure that is the easiest solution and walk on.

The haunting screeches and screams, the wrath and misery combined into a terrifying serenade. They beckon the travelers to accompany them in death.

Thinking back, they were shocked that they never noticed the lack of people before. As they come to the graveyard, they encounter the memorial building. Those who have passed were still in Conversion Town. They try to get out of the true culprit’s grasp but they are kept here, never able to escape.

The travelers stand in the dark, their heads pulsing with pain as they continue to tremble. They want medication but that would mean venturing back into the fog to find a doctor. They try to get warm but they continue to quiver. The whispers make them pale with fear.

It’s too much for them. They’re dizzy and didn’t notice until now how bad they’ve gotten. They’re trembling from the pain, psyche molded into a depressive state and the screaming won’t stop.

They know in their hearts they won’t make it.

They’re too weak.

The dead cackle and crow, taunting, teasing, belittling. They are loyal servants to the Conversion Memorial Building. They strip the travelers of their sanity. They curl up crying, pleading for the insanity to stop as a doctor walks up to them, but the doctor is too late as their vision fades to black and they hear a phrase they can barely make out.

‘I’m afraid the Black Death has already gotten them.’

That’s one of the stories that is told here in Conversion Town. We have many that revolve around deaths. This place possesses so much darkness. The town has very few inns and to be honest the Conversion Town Memorial Building is our only striking feature.  It’s a colossal structure by the graveyard that funerals are held in. Some say it’s an honor to be buried in that place. A lot of plague doctors go there to assist with the victims of the pestilence.

Some go there to visit the dearly departed. I’ve heard that the first person who died of the pestilence is in that graveyard. Supposedly their passing founded its creation. People have told ghost stories of there being a corpse that would crawl from the ground and drag its victims asunder. I’ve also heard that there is a wayward spirit who abducts people and leads them astray…it’s to be assumed that she kills them.

Since none of her victims have come back to be found, it’s all that can be said.

I can speak forever about the bizarre things that happen in this town, but I don’t find them to be anything more than stories and rumors. When you live in a town like this for too long, the line between reality and anomaly blur and you begin to accept things for what they are.

You never suspect to befall the fates of those travelers…or at least I didn’t, but life has a way of throwing you curveballs in the form of important messages.

When you pay attention to the pestilence, screams won’t help you. Even if you scream, it will only get lost in a sea of agony, trust me, I know. 

Death doesn’t care if you won’t accept its embrace. We never had a choice, so I will follow him until everything fades away into the precious void of death.