The Efforts of The Hungry

Ron Koppelberger

The Efforts of The Hungry

Sworn by the underworld taverns and decreed by the lords of feasting prosperity, the clan wore its’ livelihood with relish abandon. “We feast upon the flesh of men and then we toast to the greater things that the gods can lend us. Great grand thirsts and desires of renewal and survival absorb us for the sake of what they call Ghoul.” the clan leader exclaimed as he chewed a piece of thigh bone thoroughly and passionately.
They lived and congregated in the deepest depths of graveyard commons, beneath the surface of the earth, hidden and unseen by the prying eyes of men. This was their haven, their respite from the deeds of men. In the past they had tried to live with men but the hunger had intruded and they had been killed whenever discovered by man. Beheadings, burning at the stake and even buried alive. The tradition stated and told the tale of the first. Buried alive, Buried alive in piles of bones and rotting flesh and the grandfather of the Ghoul had survived. He had partaken of the flesh and he had changed become something more than human, because of humans, because of their fear. He had started the congregation with rag tag remnants of humanity and the clan had flourished. There were nearly five thousand of them now and they were the masters of their domains. They moved from cemetery to cemetery as their hunger perused them, devouring the discarded the forgotten and the lost.
The head of the clan reflected on this as he sat atop a coffin behind the closed gates of an ancient mausoleum. “A drink for us all in the summer of our youth, our souls in the seat of those who perished without cause, a taste for the Ghoul and a glass of fine wine for the survivor in all of his glory.”