The Distant Metropolis
The bell in the steeple of St. Jude’s did not ring; it screamed, a jagged, metallic shriek that tore through the thick fog of the valley town of Oakhaven, shattering the silence of the night and turning the white air into a haze of suspended dust. Margaret Holloway stood on the roof of the apse, her hands gripping the cold stone gargoyle until her knuckles turned the color of old bone, her eyes...
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