The Golden Cellar
The cellar door was locked. It had been locked for thirty years. Or perhaps it had always been locked. Elias Thorne did not remember the day he first saw the brass handle, tarnished green with age, set into the oak frame in his basement. He only knew it was there, a wound in the wood that refused to heal. He was a man of books. He lived in the town of Oakhaven, a place where the air tasted of...
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