There are ghosts at Covenhoven. I heard them.
I spent part of my time in Fredericton in jail. Not just any jail. An old-school bread-and-water jail.
Sometimes the call in the middle of the night isn’t a prank or wrong number. Sometimes it’s exactly what you fear a call in the middle of the night will be.
I wasn’t a bad driver then and I’m not a brilliant driver now, but travelling the same roads with one decade and hundreds of thousands of kilometres under my tires showcases the change.