The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 18:29:12 -

The Pale Mist

The mist comes in from the river before dawn. It clings to the cobblestones of Harrow’s End like a wet shroud. You stand on the porch of the station house. The air is cold. It bites through your wool coat. You are the new sheriff. The town knows it. They do not trust it. You hold the glass. It is a small, thick thing. A relic from the old days. Your grandfather owned a similar one. He used it...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews