The Distant Clue
The air in the town hall smelled of stale beer and damp wool, a thick, suffocating blend that clung to the backs of our necks as we sat in the rows of folding chairs, waiting for the man who was supposed to save us from the thing that was coming, the thing that had already begun to bleed into the edges of our days and nights with a slow, viscous certainty that no one in the town of Blackwood...
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