The Distant Whispers
You’re sure the box is in the attic? The voice came from the hallway, dry and raspy, like a throat clearing after a long cough. Elias did not turn around. He kept his eyes fixed on the peeling floral wallpaper, the pink roses faded to the color of old bandages, and the way the afternoon light caught the dust motes swirling in the stagnant air. The smell of the house hit him first, a thick,...
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