The Wistful Letter
The wind that tore through the valley of Blackwood Ridge did not merely blow; it screamed, a high, thin shriek that seemed to carry the voices of the dead and the accusations of the living all at once, whipping against the peeling clapboard siding of the old sanatorium where Elias Thorne had spent the last three years of his life in a cell of his own making. He stood now on the edge of the...
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