The Pale Circus
The van smelled of diesel and damp wool. Silas packed the last box. It was heavy. He lifted it. His back screamed. He ignored the pain. He placed it in the trunk. He closed the door. The click was final. A bone snapping. He looked at the building. It stood at the end of the gravel road. The Old Mill. It was a skeleton of brick and rot. The windows were black eyes. They stared. They did not...
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