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The Distant TempleThe ceramic bells do not ring; they hum, a low, persistent thrumming that settles in the molars and the base of the skull, a sound that has been my constant companion for the twelve years I have served as the senior archivist of the Holloway Institution, a sprawling Victorian edifice of grey stone and dust where I have found a strange, quiet joy in cataloging the artifacts of the so-called...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WhispersElias Thorne drove the steel spike into the subgrade, the impact jarring up his forearm and settling in his teeth. The smell of wet clay and diesel hung heavy in the air, a thick, organic clog that coated the back of his throat. He was forty-two, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb that no amount of ibuprofen could fully silence. The community center’s east wing needed three more...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe pocket watch lay on the kitchen table, its brass casing tarnished by years of my sweat and the damp air of Blackwood, ticking with a steady, indifferent rhythm that seemed to mock the silence of the house. It was the winter of 1912, and I was forty-two years old, a senior constable in a town that smelled of coal smoke and wet wool, where the fog rolled in off the river every morning to...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden OathThe brass seal sat on my desk, cold and heavy, a golden eye staring back at me. It was 1912, and the air in the Court of Chancery smelled of dust and old paper, a scent that had long since seeped into the fibers of my coat. I was Arthur Vane, thirty years old, an archivist who had spent a decade preserving the words of others while losing the ability to speak my own. My brother, Thomas, was in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe hammer struck the nail, and the wood splintered under the impact. I was holding the nail in my teeth, my hand slick with sweat and the dust of the old plaster, when the echo came. It was not a sound, exactly, but a pressure behind my ears, a duplication of the strike that arrived a fraction of a second too late. I pulled the nail from my mouth, spit the wood shavings onto the floor, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded MasqueradeKaelen. The name was dragged through the mud of the hall by the King’s herald, a sound like a boot scraping stone. Sir Kaelen of the Iron Guard stood by the tapestry, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword he had not drawn in six years. He wanted the pension. He wanted the farm in the valley, the one with the broken fence he had promised to repair before the winter set in. He wanted to be a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded RuinThe damp air in the Ministry of Memory tasted of iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as I sat hunched over the transcription desk, my twelve-year-old hands trembling not from cold but from the terrifying, slow dissolution of the ink before me. I am Elias, a junior scribe in Grade Four, and my sole purpose in this windowless, industrial cavern is to copy the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TowerThe dream is always the same: a pale oak tree, its bark stripped away by some unseen hand, standing in a courtyard of gray concrete, rotting from the inside out while the leaves remain stubbornly green. You wake with the taste of iron in your mouth, the sheet tangled around your legs, the morning light of the sub-basement office filtering through the high, grimy windows. It is November, and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyOctober 14, 2023 I have counted the hours since the last time I heard the hum, forty-two in total, and I have weighed the silence against the cost of the electricity bill that Mr. Halloway left on the kitchen table, a sheet of paper that seemed to vibrate with a different kind of frequency, the one that tells you how much a life is worth in dollars and cents. My mother is asleep, her chest...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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