Over forty years ago, Stephen King, the Master of Macabre, unleashed Christine, a story about a 1958 Plymouth that drove terror into the hearts of many of those that came to know her. The story – pure fantasy, of course – was about a second-year version from Chrysler’s revamped model-car lineup with a mind of her own.

As it turned out, Christine held deep, dark secrets . . . and was ultimately left for dead.

As was another just like her from the year before.

Only this one’s for real.

It was June 1957 . . .

Elvis was King, everybody liked Ike, Robert Young was the father that knew best, the Russians were about to launch a dog into space, and Dr. Seuss put a cat in a hat. In Little Rock, Arkansas, educational and racial barriers were on the verge of being smashed.

Three hundred miles to the west, in downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma, Golden Jubilee officials were getting ready to bury a new Plymouth Belvedere as a time capsule, in celebration of fifty years of Oklahoma statehood. All sorts of neat things would be buried with the car.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, one man would bury something in the new Plymouth that might stun the world – if it’s survived a half-century underground when the car’s unearthed for Oklahoma’s 100th birthday in 2007.

If . . .