The Curse of the Wandering Path
The house had been dying for sixty years, and no one had noticed because everyone was too busy pretending it was alive. Mary Elizabeth Turner stood in the foyer on a humid July morning in 1953, looking up at the staircase that had once been the pride of her great-grandfather. The mahogany banister was peeling. The chandelier had lost half its crystals. A crack ran from the ceiling to the floor...
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