The Distant Whispers
The sound started in the floorboards. Not a creak, not the settling of the house into its foundation, but a rhythmic, wet thumping, like a heart beating through the wood. I was sitting at my desk in the basement study, the one room in the old estate that felt less like a prison and more like a tomb, because the walls were lined with books I didn’t want to read and the air was always thick with...
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