The Distant Ghost

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 00:38:10 -

The Distant Ghost

"You are late," said the old man. I did not turn. I looked at the fog. It was thick. It smelled of iron. It smelled of old paper. "Time is a construct," I said. "We are past constructs." The man laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves scraping on stone. "Sit," he said. I sat. The stone was cold. It bit into my legs. I felt the cold. It was real. "Who are you?" I asked. "I am the Keeper," he...

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