We don't whistle hymns near the old church in case it wakes the congregation up. The dead are a reflection of their bodies at all times - they aren't able to make any noise but they so desperately want to worship the very being that told them all to die.
We don't like to say the word "cult", it makes them sound like bad people and they weren't. Misguided but not bad. They never hurt anybody but themselves and since whole families joined there were so few left to mourn them that it barely felt like a tragedy.
Everyone knew someone in the congregation but they were all so distant from us, that's what made them easy pickings for their beloved Reverend. He did everything he promised he would - he delivered them from the perils and damnations of this world and guided them into the afterlife.
It seemed the afterlife brought them closer to us than ever before. Outsiders don't see it, could never see their faces pressed against the glass windows, never read their lips begging for a song. Every day they decayed a little more, the stitching on their mouths growing looser as their jaws fell apart and then they began to beg.
We closed down the buildings around them, claimed it was to centrify the town but really we were quarantining it. Eventually it worked, the congregation sunk back down onto the ground, all collapsed around each other just how they were when they were found all those years ago.
Now the doors have rotted off we don't dare get too close in case they wake up and notice.
We don't like to say the word "cult", it makes them sound like bad people and they weren't. Misguided but not bad. They never hurt anybody but themselves and since whole families joined there were so few left to mourn them that it barely felt like a tragedy.
Everyone knew someone in the congregation but they were all so distant from us, that's what made them easy pickings for their beloved Reverend. He did everything he promised he would - he delivered them from the perils and damnations of this world and guided them into the afterlife.
It seemed the afterlife brought them closer to us than ever before. Outsiders don't see it, could never see their faces pressed against the glass windows, never read their lips begging for a song. Every day they decayed a little more, the stitching on their mouths growing looser as their jaws fell apart and then they began to beg.
We closed down the buildings around them, claimed it was to centrify the town but really we were quarantining it. Eventually it worked, the congregation sunk back down onto the ground, all collapsed around each other just how they were when they were found all those years ago.
Now the doors have rotted off we don't dare get too close in case they wake up and notice.
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