The Distant Nightmare
The nightmare always began with the sound of wet suction, a rhythmic, gurgling pull that vibrated through the floorboards of the house Elias Thorne shared with his wife, Mara. He woke at 3:00 a.m., his sheets tangled around his legs, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic, irregular rhythm that seemed to sync with the dripping of the leaking pipe in the hallway. Elias was...
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