The Distant Ghost
The vial in Elias Thorne’s hand trembled, not from the cold that seeped through the floorboards of his sterile apartment, but from the low, rhythmic thrumming that seemed to emanate from the black sap within. It was a sound like a heartbeat heard through a thick wall, steady and insistent, whispering his name in a voice that was not quite his own. Elias, fifty-two and hollowed out by three...
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