The Distant Ghost
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to warn you of the storm, but it tolled as if the wood itself were splitting, a deep, guttural groan that shook the dust from the rafters and settled a fine gray powder over your shoulders. You stood at the edge of the chancel, your boots heavy with the mud of the highland path, watching the candlelight flicker and die in the sudden draft that...
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