The Candle’s Hollow
It was the autumn of 1995 when I first sensed something wrong with our little flat in Salalah. My colleague, Mara, and I had been transferred from Muscat to the...
It was the autumn of 1995 when I first sensed something wrong with our little flat in Salalah. My colleague, Mara, and I had been transferred from Muscat to the...
The desert highway unspooled into a ribbon of black asphalt, the sun a molten coin sinking into the horizon. Elena, a fresh-faced graduate from Ohio, clutched her purse tighter as...
I never thought a door could hum. But that’s the only word for it—a low, vibrating thrum that started the moment the lock clicked shut. We were eight of us...
The road to Salalah was a ribbon of black tar cutting through a sea of sand, and I watched the dunes shift from ochre to crimson as the sun bled...
Listening to the woods...
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