The Faded Alibi
The dream was always the same: cold earth, the weight of it, the darkness pressing against his eyelids. Elias Thorne woke with a gasp, the sheets twisted around his legs, the air in his bedroom thick with the smell of wet rot. It was the winter of 1893, and the frost lay heavy on the windows of Blackwood Manor, but the dampness seeping into his bones was not from the weather. It was from the...
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