The Distant Ghost
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hung, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and made the cobblestones slick with a treacherous sheen. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Mill Street and Oak Avenue, his umbrella bent slightly against a wind that seemed to carry the weight of the town’s unspoken grievances. He was sixty-four, a man whose bones had begun...
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