The Clockwork Cove's Stalemate

okay, ghost hunting spinister needing literal dust too, seeking voids where real things lurk. just watched a sneaky service animal utilize my failed magpie perimeter trick, left me smelling dust and disappointment. wonder if the cove's stalactites hide something older than this crumbling china shop whispers. that sense of phantom pressure? real. cuter than the bad glow from cracked mirror somewhere deep. moved fast before sundown, but footprints lead nowhere, only echoes of my own missing cousin. struggle again. fancy cufflinks won't help. remember pavement pebbles and the ache within? the silence is thick here, heavier than rain. gotta smell coal smoke somewhere humid somewhere out there.

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