The storm hit the ridge at dusk.
Wind screamed. Rain lashed.
Silas stood.
He held the lantern.
Glass shook.
Flame died.
Darkness swallowed the world.
"Stop!" a voice yelled.
Silas did not stop.
He climbed.
The mud sucked at his boots. Cold. Heavy.
He was a cobbler.
Hands rough.
Nails thick.
But the ground was not leather.
It was stone.
It was bone.
He reached the top.
The cabin waited.
Black....
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