The Distant Threshold
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring with the clear, metallic voice it had possessed in the days before the plague, nor did it possess the resonant depth that the townspeople of Oakhaven had once relied upon to mark the passage of hours and the turning of seasons. Instead, it spoke in a low, guttural rasp, a sound that seemed to be dragged from the throat of the earth itself, a...
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