I felt sick to my stomach. I had been living in the house for three months, completely unaware that someone was sleeping just fifty yards from my back door.
I shone the flashlight around the cramped space, looking for clues as to who this person was.
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That’s when the beam hit the far wall. It was covered in something white. I stepped closer, my boots crunching on the dirt floor.
They were photographs. Dozens of them, tacked haphazardly to the plywood with rusty nails.
I focused on the nearest one, and my heart stopped.
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