The Faded Masquerade
The house breathed. That is the only way I can describe the subtle expansion and contraction of the air in the Halloran estate, a rhythm that matched my own pulse until, eventually, it stopped matching altogether. I had been hired to find the source of a rumor, a whisper that had seeped into the damp foundation of this Victorian relic on the edge of the Oregon coast. They called it the...
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