The House of Ash and Guilt
He stumbled back several steps, face drained of color, stomach churning.
He'd never imagined—not in his worst nightmares—that his own flesh and blood would come back to him like this. Broken. Violated. Reduced to filth.
There was no grief in him. Just the panic of something spinning out of his control—and revulsion at being confronted with such dirty, disgusting remains.
When it came time to settle my affairs, my father had to go to the county clerk's office to officially close my records.
The clerk on duty was a chatty sort. Glancing at the file, he remarked casually, "Mr. Duncan? Oh, right—you're the one who reported your younger son missing last Halloween, aren't you? Real shame, losing y