Naming the Spirit

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I can’t bear to have the bones in the house, so they are outside in the rain.

I think, though, that we may have a name that belongs to them.

A few nights ago after the top of the femur bone was brought into the house the teenager had a fright.

All old houses have ghosts, and this old house is no exception.

So far they have limited their activity to my room: dangling keys above my bed for example; though once there was the sound of a crying baby that had me searching underneath the bed for the source of the sound in what is now the teenager’s bedroom.

I used to sleep with the curtains wide open and the room pitch black to enjoy the starlight; but the shadows were too worrisome and disturbing and it was easier to sleep if the curtains were closed and the landing light was left on. Enough light seemed to manage to get under the door to keep any restless spirits at bay.

Now for the first time the teenager has had a strange experience. It was very late and all was quiet in the house. He had opened the curtains and was looking at the stars when from behind him in the room someone said,

‘Henry?’

When he turned to look there was of course no one there.

(Henry is not the teenager’s name by the way.)

He was so shaken he had to sleep with the light on too.

I’m wondering if the bones that I’m finding belonged to ‘Henry.’

Today I found what could be a shoulder bone as I dug in the garden. I don’t want to bring it into the house to photograph as I feel that by finding this skeleton bit by bit that a spirit is also being formed bit by bit.

I experienced such an ominous sense of dread as I found this latest bone; there were old crumbling fragile rib bones too.

Seems I’m going to be planting my potatoes in a graveyard! If ever I dare to complete the dig.

Wonder what that’s going to do to the flavour!

(Picture isn't me by the way)