It seemed all life stopped. All that could be heard was the buzzing of the flies. People stopped their menial tasks and looked in the direction of the stench. They knew the stench, but never without the site of the Walking Ghosts, as they had taken to calling them. They looked, wild eyed, trying to see if one had fallen dead in some bramble of bushes, or been thrown out of some inn. Even the local chapel had stopped taking them in, for fear of reprisals from the townsfolk. The belief was let them rot and die in solitude, they were a symbol of God's unrequited wrath, a stark reminder of the omnipresent manor lord above they served. Soon, the feral hogs and canines that roamed the streets lifted their heads and sprinted off in all directions, squealing and yelping along the way, knocking over anything in their path. Murmurs started and slowly erupted into cacophonous chatter, fear slowly infested vocal chords, worrisome questions and children's cries. The sun slowly continued its decent from the world of man, when suddenly, the first bell chime was heard. And terror gripped their hearts, one and all.
The bells were unmistakable. They weren't the ringing of the church bells, the clarion toll waking them from restless sleep to toil the earth, making them sloped and crippled by their 30s. The church bells brought their own horror, the horror of obedience, the horror of confession, the horror of sin and repentance. But no, these bells, the clanging brassy noise that assaulted ears and brain, they brought a horror unspeakable, yet so common in their tiny, bleak world. They heralded the coming of plague, of God's wrath manifested. Melting faces and blackened limbs, walking death. It was a mere courtesy, these bells, like livestock of damned souls, wrapped in bloody sheets and grain sacks, only bloody and puss filled eyes peering through. The bells warned those unafflicted of the coming of the miserable creature or creatures, giving them time to flee, or to take up stones and cast them. Leprosy had been a part of human life since the times of Christ, they knew, and the lesson they taught their children spoke of compassion and sympathy for these poor devils. But, when face to face with such unholy abomination, fear and disgust replaced Christian morals.
The Walking Ghosts carried torches and lanterns, for now the sun had died away. And the main thoroughfare of the small village was congested with the shuffling parade of lepers. It's was absolute horror. Most townsfolk had shut themselves away, to shield themselves from the stench and sight of such sorrow. Those brave enough stood and watch, a macabre parade, clenching rosaries and whispering prayers. A few gave blessings, some cried out of pity, but most, most could not contain their disgust. Stones and dirt began to fly towards the decaying horde. One woman emptied her full chamber pot onto the procession, and one child lifted the shroud of one of the travelers. He instantly fell to the ground, vomiting and crying, clearly haunted by what he had seen. The Walking Ghosts never paid them any mind, these were the absolute lowest of society, those that even the dregs of the worst dungeon would not be caught dead around. They were true pariahs, cursed by God for some sin they knew not. What were some stones and shit going to do that had not already happened to them. With the rattling of chains and the clanging of bells they marched on, their hoarse moans becoming something of a traveling song.
