Go to the café, if you dare, but don’t sit in booth #1. Our ghost plays tricks on unsuspecting diners.
How did the pristine, red 1968 Mustang arrive on Interstate-65 at midnight without a driver?
Oh sure, the fortune teller had warned of a little girl in trouble, but why had she said nothing about pink?
Sacred bones, of a prostitute no less, are unearthed during Interstate construction.... [click here for more]