Saying Goodbye to Ghosts, Pt. 4 – Bone Carvers

Bone Carvers is secretly the oldest book I’ve ever written – and in its original iteration, it was terrible.

Once upon a time, my mom and I drove to Missouri – or from Missouri, I don’t recall which way we were pointed – to drop me off at college. Along the way, we pulled off for gas at a tiny little town that shall remain unnamed. A mile or so from the Interstate, Anonymous immediately creeped us out, and never stopped. The houses universally had cracked stone foundations. The few people out...