Narrator: To set the scene
Duke: An unnamed nobleman
Doctor: A physician from the Middle Ages
Narrator: Centuries ago, in Middle Ages Europe, the Black Death took many lives. Plague doctors – young and desperate medicine men – were hired during this time to try to heal those who contracted the plague, and to give the last rites to those who could not survive it. Their uniform was distinctive, from their long black robes to the beaked masks worn at all times to prevent infection. In one darkened nobleman's bedchamber, a gravely ill Duke sits by the fireplace and speaks candidly to one such doctor as the rest of his family – already dead – grows cold in the bed across the room.
Duke: I fear I am slipping away. I feel so cold!
Doctor: It always is. I stand ready to take your last will and testament.
Duke: [clearing throat] To my loyal subjects, I bequeath my fallen family's worldly belongings paying special attention to care for the orphans of this dreaded disease.
Narrator: A rat scurries across the room in the darkness
Duke: Miserable beasts! Why should they live and prosper while my family lies dead?
Doctor: Is that all, my lord?
Duke: Yes. I fear that I am short for this world.
Doctor: Allow me to administer the last rites.
Narrator: The doctor recites the words of the bible in Latin, promising paradise in the afterlife in exchange for contrition in this world. As the psalm nears its end, the Duke contemplates his dark companion.
Duke: [coughing] I wish that I could see your face, good doctor. Please, show your face so that I may share my last moments with another human being. Can you do that?
Doctor: As you wish, my lord.
Narrator: The doctor pulls back his cowl, and reaches for the straps holding the heavy, beaked mask to his face. He recites the Lord's Prayer – the final mantra in the last rites ceremony.
Doctor: Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Narrator: As he undoes the buckle behind his head, the Duke begins to fade. He lets out a great cough and spits a gout of blood that trickles down his blackened face.
Doctor: Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Narrator: The mask falls away from the doctor's face – or what passes as such. His visage is a nightmare. Necrotic, wet layers of skin and gore hang from the bare skull of the vampiric plague doctor. One entire eyeball is plainly visible held only by a few threads of meat and gristle in its socket. The nobleman gurgles in abject horror as he succumbs to the dread black plague.
Doctor: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory – forever and ever. Narrator: The doctor's nightmarish face pulls itself into the mockery of a smile. The riches of the Duke's house would soon be his own to plunder.
Doctor: Amen.
Narrator: The doctor stands. He pulls a giant rat with patchy clumps of fur from beneath his cloak and holds the miserable beast up to his ruined face. The rat picks at the unfeeling flesh hanging from the doctor's skull.
Doctor: Yes, my pet. The master will be quite pleased with the dread harvest of sickened vessels and worldly wealth. We have done well. Tonight we feast!
Narrator: The rats, no longer fearful of the living converge in a brown mass of teeth and claws to feast on the bodies of the fallen family.