The Distant Machine
The shovel bit into the wet earth of the basement floor with a sound like a bone snapping, and Elias Thorne, twelve years old and trembling with a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature, watched the dark soil give way to the subterranean dark. He had been digging for three hours, his small hands wrapped in rags that were already stiff with blood, listening for the thump, thump, thump...
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