They were the burnt and the everliving.
As much the product of a curse as they were a blessing.
One last remnant of our little town's unsavoury past.
You'd drive past them in the summer, cranking your radio to drown out their screams but it never seemed to work much. Still, it felt better than the alternative or sitting in a hot and silent car while they hurl themselves past you in search of the river.
None of them can ever find it, whether that'd due to their burnt out eyes or their curse is hard to say but none of them have ever made it to the river in the three hundred years of their cursed existence. There's been many an attempt at herding them towards the river but it's an impossible task.
Truly, nothing's harder than trying not to catch the burning while you're driving a bunch of undead burning folks towards what might just be their salvation... or final damnation. Again, without ever having one of them touch the river we can't really say what would happen.
The rain doesn't affect them much, that much we do know. Sure it calms them down and makes the air around them all hazy but they still burn. They do whimper rather than scream which is... somehow worse than the screaming. When they whimper you start to make out what they've been trying to say all these years.
And it ain't pleasant things.
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