The Pale Path
The house shook. Not with the tremor of a passing train, nor the groan of settling foundation stones, but with a violent, singular shudder that threw Margaret from her chair. Dust cascaded from the cornices, a fine gray snow settling on the velvet drapes. The windowpane in the conservatory cracked, a white spiderweb fracturing the view of the garden. Margaret did not scream. She stood. Her...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews