This single day added on to my sentence meant the difference between a normal jail and the unending nightmare of Pembina prison.

I was supposed to get 364 days.

That was the deal.

But the judge didn't like my attitude.

Whatever the hell that meant. So, he made it 365.

Boom. One year was the minimum for prison. My lawyer made a stink and a half, but it didn't do any good.

That's my fault. In fact, he's the one who's going to release this statement to the press,

or leak it online if the Guardian Corrections group, GCG, tries to get an injunction on us.

People have to know what happened.

I'm being in a prison.

I'm going to put it right out there and tell you that it was haunted.

You think I'm joking, nuts, lying, but you have no idea.

Haunted prisons aren't anything like you imagine.

Those places that advertise themselves and people tours, those are a sick joke compared to the real thing.

It got so bad that you can actually look up GCG's official filing for Chapter 11.

That shit put them out of business on their very first prison.

And right there on the briefs, using an early statute from North Dakota law from 1857 to file an insurance claim. It says, site of Pambina prison confirmed by

governor's office and two notary publics witnessing in person to be afflicted by the supernatural

such that continued business is impossible. It wasn't the first time the prison was closed for that reason either, but leeches keep

buying it and reopening it, hoping to make a buck off the common man.

And I was shoved into that hellhole without knowing the history, even a single bit.

Now, don't get me wrong, the building itself wasn't so bad, especially for something straight out of 1853.

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