Conjoined ghosts are surprisingly common, especially those of women who've died in labour. There's nothing quite so unsettling as a vaguely humanoid shape stumbling towards you, a woman's weeping and an infant's screams fused in wretched harmony.
Now imagine if you will, an entire village in such a way, having been declared abandoned since a test bomb was dropped too close with no warning. An entire community wiped out before they could even comprehend there was any danger to begin with.
The buildings remain the only physical sign that there was every a settlement there, the bio-bomb saw to everything else and left a thirty mile radius of barren dirt and bones. When their anniversary comes around they can be seen, a shambling screaming mass of former life that still doesn't quite know how to cope with being dead fifty years later.
The rest of the wildlife can be seen in shadowy bundles of teeth and paws, struggling to move in every possible direction to try and escape each other. At least with the villagers they have some sense of cohesive movement which tends to be towards the nearest human, whether they can be seen or not.
While they don't leave the dead area, they have a tendency to swarm around anything even remotely humanoid, be it an actual person, a scarecrow or a bundle of old fabric that used to be one of them. They still can't fully interact with the living world, resorting to swiping their many hands through whatever they can and leaving sharp, ice-cold winds in their wake.
Now imagine if you will, an entire village in such a way, having been declared abandoned since a test bomb was dropped too close with no warning. An entire community wiped out before they could even comprehend there was any danger to begin with.
The buildings remain the only physical sign that there was every a settlement there, the bio-bomb saw to everything else and left a thirty mile radius of barren dirt and bones. When their anniversary comes around they can be seen, a shambling screaming mass of former life that still doesn't quite know how to cope with being dead fifty years later.
The rest of the wildlife can be seen in shadowy bundles of teeth and paws, struggling to move in every possible direction to try and escape each other. At least with the villagers they have some sense of cohesive movement which tends to be towards the nearest human, whether they can be seen or not.
While they don't leave the dead area, they have a tendency to swarm around anything even remotely humanoid, be it an actual person, a scarecrow or a bundle of old fabric that used to be one of them. They still can't fully interact with the living world, resorting to swiping their many hands through whatever they can and leaving sharp, ice-cold winds in their wake.
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