The Distant Ghost
You dream of the house. It stands on the hill, a skeleton of brick and rot, watching the valley with eyes of broken glass. You are not there, but you are. You are in the attic, breathing dust that tastes of iron and old paper. The floorboards creak under your boots. They are heavy, leather, soaked in rain. You know this house. You have known it for thirty years. It is the Harrowgate manor,...
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