"Aye, I do r'member" The woman on the rocking chair adjusted the two barrels shotgun in the crook of her arm. The wood beneath her shrieking at every tiny movement done. "Used to be a quite town, this one. We hadn't much, but enough to live." The broken 'Sheriff' sign above her being just one indication of the town's decay into a ghost counterpart.
"There used to be simpler times. Used to dance on the bar stage meself, got all the men and woman looking at me." A hearty laugh escaped her at the nostalgia of her memories, quickly cut short by a fit of deep coughs. A worn piece of cloth wiped smears of blood from her hand and mouth. "Simpler times, I tell you... a decade ago, I could point a gun at some thug, put a hole between his eyes and be done. The dead be dead, and the living keep on. People feared mortality, as it should be. But in the last few years, we witnessed something truly ungodly. Maybe it is the lord's way of punishing our sins, but what kind of wicked lord would unleash this hell on earth?" The woman used that same cloth to wipe of sweat off her head, leaving a small smear of blood.
Her voice turned to a whisper. "The dead won't stay dead no more. People with no brain left between their skull been spotted robbing banks 50 miles south. Groups of bandits been sighted with slit throats, gallows marks and more holes than a lump of cheese. Some fitting foul machinations on their body. Stripped of their humanity, they say. Bullocks... those rogues never had any humanity to begin with...
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