Lowtone Stories

Chapter 1: The Garage and the Ghost Track The Kapiti surf rolled in steady outside, muted under the hum of Mark's fridge and the hiss of his own silence. The house wasn't much-a weathered box on stilts, sun-faded curtains, sand tracked through the hall-but it was his. Fifty years old, beard streaked grey, shoulders still broad under the ink. To most people, he was a ghost. A name from flyers and dusty crates in secondhand...