The Pale Door
The chisel bit into the oak with a sound like a dry bone snapping, and Elias Thorne felt the vibration travel up the handle, through the calluses of his palm, and settle in the hollow of his chest where his own heartbeat had long since grown erratic and loud. He was forty years old, a master joiner of twenty, and he had come to Blackwood Manor in the autumn of 1912 to settle a debt of four...
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