Laughing Death
“They told us to stay calm when the coughing started. By nightfall the barracks sounded like a festival. By dawn, it was quiet again.”
The Laughing Death is one of the most lethal naturally occurring viruses in recorded history. It attacks the body’s ability to draw breath, turning a reflex as simple as laughter into the mechanism of death itself. The infection is known for its rapid onset, violent muscular convulsions, and the eerie sound those convulsions produce. Entire settlements have been silenced in a matter of days when the air turned heavy with that hollow, rhythmical noise. The disease does not linger in the soil or water once its hosts are gone, but during an outbreak it moves faster than fear itself.
Early signs appear ordinary and are often ignored. A mild cough, a sore throat, and the sense of being winded after exertion seem harmless until the spasms begin. Once the diaphragm starts to contract uncontrollably, the pattern is irreversible. The sound of laughter follows, sharp and uneven, echoing through barracks, taverns, and hospitals alike. Witnesses describe the effect as both grotesque and pitiful, a sound that confuses the living even as it terrifies them.
Death comes through mechanical failure rather than infection of the lungs themselves. The muscles responsible for breathing seize until they no longer respond, cutting off oxygen and driving the heart into collapse. The victim remains conscious through most of this process. Facial tension during the final convulsions leaves the body with a fixed smile, giving rise to the false belief that the dead die laughing. No known sedative can completely prevent this phase once it begins.
The first confirmed outbreaks occurred in the coastal trade routes of the southern wetlands, spreading through travelers who carried the virus north. Records show it reached major cities within a year, carried by river barges and crowded inns. Early physicians mistook it for a curse or divine punishment, which delayed containment and led to brutal reprisals against supposed carriers. Only later studies revealed a mundane but far more terrifying truth. The Laughing Death needs no malice to thrive. It survives purely through chance and proximity.
Modern research classifies the pathogen as an airborne virus derived from a marshland mammalian parasite that mutated into a form capable of human infection. There are no arcane or supernatural elements involved, though the disease has entered folklore as a symbol of unseen punishment. Its spread can be controlled only through strict isolation, ventilation, and the immediate burning of contaminated materials. Survivors remain rare, and those who live through infection are often left with permanent respiratory weakness or recurring muscle spasms.
Even centuries after the major outbreaks ended, the Laughing Death remains a specter in public memory. Laughter itself carries unease in many regions where the plague once struck. Performers, tavernkeepers, and speakers are careful to distance themselves from the sound that once emptied cities. The virus has been studied, contained, and categorized, yet its image persists. To most, it is not merely an illness but a reminder of how fragile breath truly is.
Transmission & Vectors
“It moved faster than fear. One breath, one word, one laugh carried across a room, and the next moment the whole room was laughing back. You did not need to touch them. You only needed to listen.”
The Laughing Death spreads through the air, carried on the breath of the infected. The virus is released in fine droplets expelled during coughing, speaking, or even ordinary breathing, which allows it to linger in enclosed or humid spaces. It thrives in poor ventilation and low light, where still air gives it time to settle and be inhaled by others. In the early stages of infection, when symptoms appear mild, a single individual can infect an entire household or crew within hours. Direct contact with bodily fluids increases risk, but most transmissions occur without touch, through proximity alone.
The pathogen survives only briefly outside a living host. It clings to moisture and dissipates in open wind or sunlight, which limits its endurance in arid climates. Despite that weakness, outbreaks spread with remarkable speed through cities and encampments where people share confined quarters. Ships, mines, and inns are particularly vulnerable. The sound of laughter, though not the vehicle itself, often signals the moment containment has already failed. By the time the spasms begin, the surrounding air has already turned against those still breathing it.
Symptoms
“The laughter starts small, like someone remembering a joke they cannot share. Then it grows until it drowns out everything else. You can hold them down, you can pray, but the sound keeps coming until there is no one left to make it.”
The first symptoms of the Laughing Death are deceptively ordinary. Within a day of exposure, the infected begin to feel mild fatigue and soreness across the chest and upper back. A dry cough follows, often mistaken for irritation from dust or cold air. As the virus multiplies, the diaphragm begins to spasm. These early convulsions are faint, producing small, rhythmic gasps that resemble suppressed laughter. As the disease progresses, the spasms grow stronger, forcing air through the throat in harsh, barking bursts. The victim remains conscious and aware throughout, often terrified by their inability to stop the sound or draw a full breath.
In advanced stages, the convulsions become violent. The body shakes as the diaphragm locks and the lungs collapse inward. Muscles in the face and neck seize, distorting the features into a strained smile that has fueled centuries of superstition. The skin turns pale, then blue, as oxygen runs out. Victims usually die from suffocation or cardiac arrest brought on by muscular exhaustion. Those who survive the acute phase face lasting damage to the lungs and diaphragm, chronic pain, and recurring spasms triggered by laughter or stress. The disease ends either in stillness or in silence that never feels complete.
Treatment
“We tried binding their chests to steady the muscles. We tried potions to calm the nerves, prayers to steady the air. In the end, the only thing that ever worked was leaving the room before it began again.”
Treatment for the Laughing Death remains limited to intervention rather than cure. The focus is on delaying respiratory failure and easing the muscular convulsions that define the illness. Early administration of muscle relaxants or strong sedatives can reduce the severity of spasms, buying precious hours for the body to rest between episodes. In controlled environments, healers use assisted breathing devices or enchantments to maintain oxygen flow while the muscles recover. These measures rarely lead to full survival but can extend life long enough for natural resistance to take hold, a phenomenon observed in less than one case in twenty.
Experimental methods have included potions derived from swamp herbs with natural numbing properties and complex ritual attempts to synchronize breathing through sympathetic magic. None have shown consistent success. Once the convulsions reach their peak, the virus overwhelms the body’s capacity for repair. The only proven means of control lies in strict isolation of the infected, immediate sterilization of contaminated air and surfaces, and careful preservation of the few survivors for study. In most outbreak zones, medical staff do not attempt long-term treatment once the laughter begins. At that point, mercy and distance are the same act.
History
“The Laughing Death did not arrive like a plague. It arrived like a rumor. By the time anyone believed it, it had already written its history in the silence it left behind.”
The first recorded outbreak of the Laughing Death occurred in the port city of Calven’s Hollow during a humid midsummer season. Dockworkers began collapsing at their posts, overcome by what witnesses described as “fits of laughter that would not end.” Within three days the infection had spread through the harbor district, and ships anchored offshore reported similar cases. The initial response was confusion rather than containment. Physicians believed the spasms were caused by tainted spirits or magical residue from imported cargo. By the time the disease was correctly identified as infectious, entire families had perished, and trade across the southern coast had ground to a halt.
In the decades that followed, the Laughing Death moved inland along caravan routes and river towns. Each new region met it with superstition and fear. Some blamed the wetlands where it first appeared, others the traveling performers whose voices carried laughter from one city to another. The pattern was always the same. Denial, panic, silence. Outbreaks became less frequent only after strict quarantine laws and public health codes were enforced across the cantons. Though centuries have passed since the last major epidemic, the disease remains a specter in collective memory. Medical records preserve its details, but folklore keeps its echo alive. Even now, laughter in the wrong place can empty a room.
“Laughter used to mean warmth in a room. During the outbreaks, it meant we were already too late.”
“Even after the coughing stopped and the streets went quiet, the air still felt wrong, as if the sound had soaked into the walls and refused to leave.”
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