The wind howled in the otherwise quiet town without many sound barriers to boost its resonance. All of the townspeople had passed away years ago, leaving only wispy trees and dilapidated buildings. The darkness of the night engulfed the near empty town and sheltered it from the outskirts of the world. Here the land was flat and stretched as far as the eye could see, if only if was daytime. It was much different from the rocky mountains of the west and the lush, green valleys to the east, but that was exactly what the people had liked about it.
          Fifty years ago, the word “ghost” was simply not in the townspeople’s vocabulary. They were miners and surely many people passed away as a result of their dangerous lifestyle, but that was the thrill of it. Men mined on adrenaline to survive fifteen-hour work days while the women thrived on the joy of watching their children grow. Tragedies were short-lived because the town quickly came together to celebrate the lives of the fallen. Happiness was a common disease and spread through the town like the common cold. None of the joyous townspeople suspected that their beloved town would one day be barren.
          The unraveling of the town did not occur from a single strand. It started when coal became scarce. The sole mountain range that existed in this region was barely even considered mountainous compared to the mountains of the east and west. Miners chipped away at these pitiful mountains until they had almost disappeared. Much to the townspeople’s dismay, every ounce of coal had been forced out of the earth. This tragedy was not short-lived; in fact, it was the opposite. Coal was a way of life here. It fueled, fed, paid for, and nurtured everyone and everything the townspeople had ever known. Without it, life could not possibly go on, and as coal’s strand of the town’s protective blanket was yanked right out, so was the other most important strand: the strand of the people’s spirits. As miners’ jobs vanished, their depression rushed in, burdening their wives and children. The once joyous atmosphere of the town had faded into misery.
           As if losing their jobs and their contentedness was not enough, Mother Nature soon struck the town. Winds gently blew on the buildings and trees of the town, challenging them to a fight, but the structures were defenseless. They rattled and swayed as the wind became increasingly stronger, enough to whip people off their feet. Of course, the townspeople were used to the occasional strong winds that came from the flat land they lived on, but these ones were monstrous.
          Without any will to move forward, some surrendered. As the town had established decades ago, the townspeople utilized a certain blue dye from indigo plants that they were required to have at all times. The dye was used like paint, and the people smeared it over their windows as a sign of defeat and a cry for help to anyone from out of town. Some even painted their roofs, hoping that planes from above would question the odd color and land to investigate. This inadequate effort was a waste of time as the wind nearly swallowed the town whole, leaving nothing alive or well.