Water poured down the stone facade of the small church although there was no visible source. The surrounding woods were full of people who'd been foolish enough to drink from it and were now twisted tree-like beings who spent their shortened lives desperately trying to find their way back to drink again i the hope that it might cure them.
They were left so thirsty that they'd often resort to killing anything they came across and draining it dry. You could easily tell where they'd been by the trail of exsanguinated bodies they left behind. Dozens of squirrels, a handful of deer and any hiker who thought the legends were false and were too slow or too stupid to avoid the shambling tree-beasts who had once been so alive and so curious.
There always seemed to be someone trying to find the cursed church, whether they heard about it from someone in the shaded corner of a pub to medieval texts to the desperate search for a cure - there would always be someone for the church to bless with its waters.
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