The Golden Harbor
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring; it screamed. It was a sound like tearing iron, a shriek that split the twilight and turned the blood in the veins to ice. The village of Oakhaven, nestled in the crooked valley of the Yorkshire moors, had known silence for three days, a silence so thick it felt like a burial shroud. But the bell, which had been silent since the last plague, suddenly erupted...
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