The Golden Cellar
The cellar door was not locked, but it was stuck. It had been stuck for three days, ever since the frost had crept into the earth and seized the wooden frame in a grip of ice and rot. I stood before it, my breath pluming in the cold air, listening to the silence of the house. It was a heavy silence, the kind that settles on a place when the life has been drained out of it. My name is Arthur...
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