The Pale Path
The iron lantern hangs from the gable of the manor house, suspended by a chain of such fine, unyielding metal that it seems to vibrate with a frequency only the dead can hear. It is a perfect sphere of blackened steel, punctuated by a single, vertical slit through which the flame, when lit, casts a beam as narrow and cold as a surgeon’s scalpel. You have carried this lantern for thirty years, a...
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