The Distant Ghost
The train was not moving, yet the vibration in the floorboards suggested a violence that had been stilled by some invisible hand, leaving only the tremor of a dying beast. You stood in the carriage of the night express, a vessel of dark oak and brass that smelled of oil, old wool, and the metallic tang of fear. Outside the window, the moor stretched out like a bruise under a pale, indifferent...
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