The Distant Journey
The corridor was longer than it had been in the morning. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the library, his hand resting on the cold brass knob, and watched the far end of the hallway recede into a shadow that should not have been there. He had measured it twice, with a tape measure and with his own stride, and the numbers did not agree with the geometry of the house. Silas had died three...
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