The Distant Ghost
Four hundred and twelve days since the last letter from Elias. Thomas counted them on his fingers, the knuckles swollen and red from the frost, as he walked the frozen moor toward the farmhouse at the edge of the village. The air was not cold; it was heavy, a low, metallic hum that vibrated in the molars and the soles of the boots. Thomas was a constable, a man of law and order, but here, in...
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