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Roylsden #157

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I knew it when I was a small child.
In those days it was always nearby. In our house. Under the floorboards. In my parent's bedroom.
It was bigger then. Blacker.
I knew it when me, Ma and Pa came to Roylsden: it followed us. It rode on the stagecoach with us, with the luggage strapped to the back. It climbed inside the stage, too, into the look between my parents' eyes.
But when we got to Roylsden it went far away. A long ways away.
Until the hooves crunched my bones.
I knew it there, close up and bad.

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