The Distant Nightmare
The radiator ticks. It is a dry, wooden sound. It repeats. You count the seconds between the clicks. One. Two. Three. The heat is failing. The air in the room is thin and stale. You hold the box. It is small. It is cardboard. It smells of dust and old paper. Inside, there is nothing. Or so you think. You are here because of the letter. The letter from the Department. The ink is black. The font...
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