The Distant Garden
The house at the end of Sycamore Lane did not look like a home so much as it looked like a wound that had been stitched shut with barbed wire, standing there with its gutters hanging like broken teeth and its windows blacked out by the heavy, suffocating dust of a decade that no one else in the town of Oakhaven seemed willing to remember or acknowledge. Elias Thorne stood on the porch, his...
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