“For three agonizing years, I visited their small graves every Sunday, whispering apologies to cold stone, until a filthy little boy stepped from the shadows and delivered a chilling message that made my blood run cold: ‘They aren’t in there, mister… they’re waiting for you.'”
Part 1: I thought I knew what a broken heart felt like. I thought the worst day of my life was already three years behind me. I was so incredibly wrong. It was a freezing, damp morning in late October, just outside of Pittsburgh. The fog was rolling thick over the Pennsylvania hills, settling heavily…
