It started when we moved in to the house.  It was spotless and full of bright light with all of the walls painted a blank eggshell.  It was a canvas waiting to be filled with a new vibrant story.  As I have come to find out however it already has a story and is commanding the brushstrokes as it sees fit!

Nooks and crannies would suddenly not be empty as we would begin to fill the spaces with our belongings.  A pebble in the corner of the closet; a while later we found a key under the oven; as we completed our unpacking we discovered an old blanket in the linen closet.  Small things that make you wonder, but nothing bold enough to freak you out.

Our lawn is turning against me as well.  The grass which was turning more brown and tan by the day is now bleaching into a muted gray – the neighbors grass is green and succulent, and the scandalous looks through the slats in our fence are irritating to the point of action.

It was yesterday when I was digging in the soil near the storage room door on the side of the house when I came across evidence too much to be ignored.  Wanting to add some life to our sea of a back yard I was preparing to drop in an evergreen shrub.  My hole was ready but when I returned with the root ball I peered into the hole to gauge the depth when the sight forced me to drop it and ultimately crack the ‘ball threatening the plant.

A hand lay in at the bottom of my excavation.  Dusty and brown the shock made my eyes water and I fell backward off my heels.  I crawled back to the hole and looked in again.  What I was sure was a semi-fresh fleshy hand was nothing more than the skeletal remains of one now.  Still shocking, and still unbelievable – what am I to do?  My options are to rebury the hand, or find out how much more is down there.  I prefer option one, but I never claimed to be a smart guy.  If I don’t find out if it is attached to anything else, it will eat at me until I go mad.

I choose option two and reach out with my garden glove and give it a grip.  Shaking its hand and pulling, I am sure it is squeezing back while it lifts out effortlessly.  The rest of the body it belonged to is either not there, or disconnected.  Of course my family is out running some errand while I sit and ponder what is going on, and what this might all mean.  The thoughts about moving to a new home are not far from my mind.  The panic keeps those thoughts from invading further when the hand grips mine firmly.  Being absent of muscles, this shouldn’t be possible, although such rational thoughts are not in my mind at the time.  The harder I shake and try to fling it from the end of my arm the harder it hangs on and crushes my fingers inside my leather mitt.

The pain is quickly too much to bear and I squeeze back instinctively to try and wound it back.  It loosens its grip immediately and falls to the ground motionless.  I stomp on it breaking a few of the segments apart.  I collected the pieces in a doggie poo bag, which was the only thing handy; at least it was empty before depositing the pieces…

All but one.  One fingertip piece was missing and nowhere to be found.  I pitched the goody bag into the plastic pot that previously held my now-broken shrub – and came back into the house to wash my hands and face to consider my circumstances.