The Pale Shadows
You stand at the threshold of the schoolhouse, the heavy oak door swollen with the damp of the November air, and you watch the light fail. It is a peculiar light, thin and gray, stretching across the gravel yard like a sheet of wet silk. You are twelve years old, and your hands are cold inside the pockets of your wool coat, the fabric stiffening against your palms. The building before you is a...
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