The Distant Summer
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring in harmony with the wind that day, but it screamed, a thin, metallic shriek that cut through the heavy, stagnant air of the valley like a blade through silk. Thomas Whitmore stood at the edge of the crumbling bell tower, his fingers wrapped around the rope, his knuckles white and swollen, his body trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, terrifying...
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