Loved every word of this. My brain went straight to some elaborate plot of you being quietly witnessed in the graveyard by someone other than John. Them realising their error in neatly arranging him on his own grave, and removing him quickly to their longstanding (not literally) collection of grave-robbery-type artefacts in their basement. Where they also house unfortunates who stumble across one of their graves mid-exhumation... But Ive been told I have a vivid imagination and may at times be a bit of an overthinker so feel free to scratch that.
I did, some time later, wonder if I'd walked into a crime scene. I imagined some serial killer hiding behind a tree, watching some idiot teenager stand there having a conversation with a very old skeleton, and instead of calling the police or doing anything responsible just offering to bring it some take-out... without even explaining the distinction between a calzone and a stromboli, which I'm sure a guy from 1780 wouldn't have the first clue about.
I've (mostly) convinced myself that it's unlikely, and would've been a lot of extra work for a serial killer to bury a victim in exactly the right soil conditions so as to leave more than just a human-shaped stain in the dirt, then wait two centuries to dig him up. So I'm, er, probably safe.
What do you mean, "Not again"?
Unrelated. Try not to think about it.
Loved every word of this. My brain went straight to some elaborate plot of you being quietly witnessed in the graveyard by someone other than John. Them realising their error in neatly arranging him on his own grave, and removing him quickly to their longstanding (not literally) collection of grave-robbery-type artefacts in their basement. Where they also house unfortunates who stumble across one of their graves mid-exhumation... But Ive been told I have a vivid imagination and may at times be a bit of an overthinker so feel free to scratch that.
I did, some time later, wonder if I'd walked into a crime scene. I imagined some serial killer hiding behind a tree, watching some idiot teenager stand there having a conversation with a very old skeleton, and instead of calling the police or doing anything responsible just offering to bring it some take-out... without even explaining the distinction between a calzone and a stromboli, which I'm sure a guy from 1780 wouldn't have the first clue about.
I've (mostly) convinced myself that it's unlikely, and would've been a lot of extra work for a serial killer to bury a victim in exactly the right soil conditions so as to leave more than just a human-shaped stain in the dirt, then wait two centuries to dig him up. So I'm, er, probably safe.
... probably.
Yes, deffo probably safe. ☺️
Once again, brilliant writing and a cracking good story! Maybe contact Stephen King about a possible collaboration?