The Distant Whispers
Elias’s shovel bit into the frozen earth of the northern woods with a sound like a bone snapping, the metal edge flashing dull white in the thinning light of late afternoon. He was forty years old, and his shoulders ached with a dull, persistent throb that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the weight of the body draped across his back, a sack of rotting flesh and old...
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