Day/Night 42: Twilight
Everything had been proceeding normally.
The day was coming to an end, but the nurses were very careful to watch the clock. Their excuse was that the patients needed to be back in time for dinner, but anyone who had been around long enough had to know that it had a lot more to do with getting back up the hill before the sun dipped down behind the mountain.
It had become twilight, and the patients were allowed their last few moments to wander around the town before they would inevitably be rounded up.
Or that was the idea, at least.
Instead, something else happened. This time it wasn't a matter of not estimating the time right, seeing how the sun was still out, even if it was largely obscured by clouds. No, this was a whole different kind of problem.
With night came change. That was the belief that everyone had come to function under and expect. In this case, the rug was pulled out from under them as Doyleton's underbelly came to life even in the precious last moments of day.
Was it planned? Who knew. It wasn't the sort of thing anyone would get to think about for long, since suddenly the pristine, well-kept stores warped. There were stains on the floors and the walls; food that had looked perfectly edible a second before was suddenly rotten; the foundations of the buildings became less stable, and everything took on the appearance of being old, dilapidated, ruined. Dead. Outside, all of the greenery withered and a fog rolled in.
It didn't end with the town, of course. The nurses became what they always became, but the townspeople were another story. Just like the place itself, they were dead and yet not. Able to walk, but their skin rotted and their mouths were stained with blood. Once again, the change was instantaneous, like a flip had been switched. They clambered out from behind the counters they had been manning and started the hunt.
Still, not all of the dead showed their faces during the day. Some had been buried - long ago, perhaps, or maybe more recently. There was no way to tell, but they were back to some sad excuse for a life now. They were hardly quiet about their awakening, though. They pulled themselves up out of the ground with bony fingers, and soon the steady moan of the dead washed over the whole town. Some burst up through the floorboards of stores while others crowded the streets and others still wandered in from the forests, through the fog. There seemed to be no end to them.
It did bring one question to mind: how many people had died here? But just like all of the other questions, there was no real answer, and the priority became fighting for one's life.
The day was coming to an end, but the nurses were very careful to watch the clock. Their excuse was that the patients needed to be back in time for dinner, but anyone who had been around long enough had to know that it had a lot more to do with getting back up the hill before the sun dipped down behind the mountain.
It had become twilight, and the patients were allowed their last few moments to wander around the town before they would inevitably be rounded up.
Or that was the idea, at least.
Instead, something else happened. This time it wasn't a matter of not estimating the time right, seeing how the sun was still out, even if it was largely obscured by clouds. No, this was a whole different kind of problem.
With night came change. That was the belief that everyone had come to function under and expect. In this case, the rug was pulled out from under them as Doyleton's underbelly came to life even in the precious last moments of day.
Was it planned? Who knew. It wasn't the sort of thing anyone would get to think about for long, since suddenly the pristine, well-kept stores warped. There were stains on the floors and the walls; food that had looked perfectly edible a second before was suddenly rotten; the foundations of the buildings became less stable, and everything took on the appearance of being old, dilapidated, ruined. Dead. Outside, all of the greenery withered and a fog rolled in.
It didn't end with the town, of course. The nurses became what they always became, but the townspeople were another story. Just like the place itself, they were dead and yet not. Able to walk, but their skin rotted and their mouths were stained with blood. Once again, the change was instantaneous, like a flip had been switched. They clambered out from behind the counters they had been manning and started the hunt.
Still, not all of the dead showed their faces during the day. Some had been buried - long ago, perhaps, or maybe more recently. There was no way to tell, but they were back to some sad excuse for a life now. They were hardly quiet about their awakening, though. They pulled themselves up out of the ground with bony fingers, and soon the steady moan of the dead washed over the whole town. Some burst up through the floorboards of stores while others crowded the streets and others still wandered in from the forests, through the fog. There seemed to be no end to them.
It did bring one question to mind: how many people had died here? But just like all of the other questions, there was no real answer, and the priority became fighting for one's life.