Deep in the Appalachian hills, two twin brothers, Son and Bo, live in a creaky old house that is as haunted as their family always swore it was. Everyone knew the spirit of "Annie" made herself at home there, shifting furniture just slightly, sighing dramatically from empty rooms, and occasionally flipping a cornbread over on the griddle just to remind folks she was around. One Easter morning, Bo sat cross-legged in the living room, staring at a massive Easter egg, brightly painted and almost as tall as he was. His buddy, @tumbleweedscountrycircus, had left it on the porch overnight. No note. No warning. Just the egg. "You gonna open it?" Son asked, leaning against the doorway, munching on a handful of boiled peanuts. "Don’t rush me," Bo muttered. He poked at the egg. It wobbled. Annie sighed from the attic. He took a deep breath, pried it open—and out popped hundreds of smaller eggs, each one cracking open upon landing, releasing an explosion of glitter, rubber chickens, and honking clown noses that bounced around like popcorn in a hot skillet. Annie, clearly unimpressed, turned on all the big lights in the house. Bo, ignoring the chaos, clapped back at his brother. "This is great and all, but listen—I’m movin’ to Japan." Son blinked at him through a haze of airborne confetti. "Come again?" "Boiled peanut stand. Right in Tokyo. Market's untapped." Son sighed. Annie, listening from above, groaned dramatically, knocked a photo frame off the mantel, and probably considered haunting a new family altogether.