They lurch through the village's winding roads, dragging their cast iron censers behind them as they weep and chatter fragmented hymns into the night's cold air. They dress like nuns but there isn't a church on the whole island, hasn't been since the vikings briefly invaded in 1176 and razed it all to the ground.
We don't know where they came from or where they hide away when the morning comes. We don't know who sent them or what they want. We don't even know if they're actually human or if they're wearing human skins to try and get closer to us.
It's not worked so far - nobody's daft enough to get remotely within arm's reach of the damned things but we've still lost five to the fumes leaking from their censers. The gas looks like wood smoke but doesn't smell of anything and for all we know it's still lingers in the air long after sunrise.
They don't seem to be interested in looking through windows or walking through open doorways, it seems like they just want to patrol the village and make their little noises. If it weren't for the censers we'd happily let them roam but now we've got to figure out if we call the mainland police or the church.
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