The Distant Summer

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2026-08-22 16:19:29 -

August 14, 1954. The smell of spoiled milk has settled into the walls of the Gable house, a thick, cloying stench that coats the back of my throat and refuses to leave, no matter how much I scrub the linens or open the shutters to let in the stale August air. I am standing at the foot of the bed, my hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that has fallen...

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