The Pale Door
The fluorescent lights of the St. Jude’s Home for the Elderly hummed a low, sickly drone that seemed to vibrate directly against your molars, a sound you had learned to ignore over the six years you had spent scrubbing the linoleum of the east wing until your knuckles bled and your spirit went gray, yet today the hum was different, sharper, a high-pitched whine that felt less like electricity...
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