The Pale Shadows
The jar sat on the steel counter of the break room, its glass surface fogged with the humidity of the basement. It was a standard Mason jar, the kind used for preserving peaches in summer, but the contents were not fruit. They were a slurry of grey-green paste, thick and viscous, swirling slowly as if stirred by an invisible hand. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon stared at it. The smell was faint, a...
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