The Distant Summer
You leave the village of Oakhaven not with a suitcase but with a fever, a burning, white-hot itch in the marrow of your bones that no amount of cold river water or bitter tincture can soothe, and as you drag your feet onto the muddy track that leads toward the industrial sprawl of the valley, the mist around you does not thin but thickens, swirling with a strange, oily sheen that catches the...
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