The Faded Alibi
The jar sits on the table. It is cracked. You see the hairline fracture running up the side. It looks like a vein. It looks like a scar. Inside, the honey is dark. Thick. Like tar. Like blood that has cooled. You reach for it. Your hand trembles. You do not want to touch it. You must. The house holds its breath. The shadows lengthen in the corners. They stretch toward you. They wait. They...
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