The Distant Clue

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2026-08-18 16:43:36 -

The Distant Clue

The willow tree at the edge of the mill pond did not bend; it stood rigid and grey, its branches like the spindly fingers of a drowned man reaching for the sky. I was seven years old, sitting on the cold stone steps of the rectory, watching the leaves turn black and crisp, and I was convinced that I had seen something that did not belong to the world of the living. It was a time when the...

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