The Distant Ghost
The ledger was bound in leather that had cracked and peeled under the weight of thirty years of coal dust, its spine held together by a strip of wire that bit into the palm of the hand holding it. I held it against my chest as I walked, feeling the cold metal of the wire press through my wool coat, a sharp, rhythmic pain that kept time with my steps. The Appalachian foothills in late October...
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