The courtyard was still and silent, the last remaining gentry had finally met their visceral end and the village below tried to breathe their sighs of relief and say how glad they were that it was all over at last. But there was doubt deep in their minds and in the same way a beaten dog will flinch even in a safe home, they flinched at the shadows, at the fluttering curtains and prayed the dead would stay still and silent.
They decided that every day someone would be chosen to go and check to help settle their minds until the bodies had rotted away to nothing that could come back and hurt them again. They would be well-armed and carry a horn to warn the village if they found something unnatural or were attacked.
The first day came and went with no trouble - the bodies were dead and silence remained.
The second, third and fourth days came and went much the same.
On the fifth day they realised that nobody ever mentioned if the bodies had moved, only that they were dead.
On the sixth day there was nobody left to realise that death doesn't mean the end for some creatures.
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