“Twenty-four years. That’s how long I’ve lived with the memory of my sister’s cold, lifeless face in that casket. But tonight, at a neon-lit drive-thru, the impossible happened. She leaned out, her skin warm, her eyes terrified. ‘Please… don’t scream,’ she hissed, gripping my hand with a strength no ghost should have. If she’s alive, then who—or what—did I bury all those years ago? The nightmare is only beginning.”
The neon sign of the “Burger Stop” flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow over my steering wheel. It was Thanksgiving night, and the loneliness of my studio apartment had driven me out for a cheap meal. I rolled into the drive-thru lane, the gravel crunching beneath my tires. My mind was drifting back to the…