The Distant Whispers
The house breathed. That was the only way to describe it. It inhaled the damp of the garden through the cracks in the foundation and exhaled a cold, stale air that settled in the corners of the rooms like dust. Elias stood in the hallway. He was twelve years old, small for his age, with hands that did not stop moving. They brushed the wallpaper, traced the grain of the baseboards, checked the...
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