The Distant Nightmare
The bus smelled of wet wool and diesel. It was a smell that clung to the nose, thick and stubborn, refusing to dissipate even when the doors hissed open. Leo sat in the back corner, his knees pressed against the cold vinyl seat. He was twelve, small for his age, with hands that shook slightly when he was afraid. He was afraid often. Today, the fear was not of the dark or of monsters under the...
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