The Distant Ghost
The gate of St. Jude’s did not close so much as it gave way, a heavy oak slab that groaned against the frost of the early morning. Elias Thorne, forty years old and hollowed out by two decades of dust and silence, pulled his coat tighter against the biting wind. He was not leaving out of a sense of freedom, but of necessity; his pension was due, and the institution that held it was crumbling...
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