The Faded Photograph
The count was simple. Fourteen days to survey. Three rooms per day. One report by Friday. I had the calipers, the laser level, the notebook, and the grant application form that would keep the oxygen flowing to my mother’s lungs. Harrow House sat on the ridge like a broken tooth, its eaves dark with rot, its windows blind. I was a structural engineer, not a ghost hunter, but the air inside was...
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