In North Dakota, the land stretches so wide and empty it feels like the world has forgotten it. Ghost stories drift across the windswept plains, whispered from the ruins of lost homesteads and buried towns swallowed by snow and time. The spirits of settlers, soldiers, and native tribes move with the storms, unseen but never far.
In the dead of winter, the cold creeps in like a living thing, seeping through the ground, the wood, the bone. Shadows gather along the broken fences and empty railroad tracks, where the line between the living and the dead fades with the setting sun. In North Dakota, silence is never empty — it is full of memory, of sorrow, and of things that refuse to be forgotten.