The Golden Farce
The memory of the sound comes back to Willis Ledbetter not as a memory, but as a physical ache in his knuckles, a grinding friction that sits deep in the bone like a splinter he cannot pick out. He remembers the night the gears of the central chime clock began to scream, a wet, chattering noise like human teeth clacking together in the dark, and he remembers the cold, wet texture of the river...
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