In Nebraska, the endless plains stretch into a silence so deep it feels alive. Ghost stories seep from the dust and broken homesteads, whispered by the wind that never stops moving. Spirits of settlers who vanished into the storms and drifters swallowed by the prairie still roam the empty fields. Out here, there is no shelter — only the endless sky, the howling wind, and the heavy weight of forgotten lives. In Nebraska, it’s not the living who own the land — it’s the dead.
