The Pale Echo
You will hear the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece before you hear anything else, a sound so regular and relentless that it feels less like time passing and more like a drill boring into the soft flesh of your eardrums, a mechanical heartbeat that keeps the pulse of this old house alive even as the blood drains from your veins. It is the winter of 1923, and the town of Harrowgate is...
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