Disrespecting Mrs. Fountain

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This is me teaching Step Dad and his best mate about Keeping Up with the Kardashians last night. Important things that old men need to get their heads around.

Poking around the house this morning with Mum, I commented to her how much she had cleaned up the junk room. The junk room is a little area off the main hall. It houses random things like vases, boxes of glasses and all of Mums quilting crap. She is forever quilting something for someone. I cannot get on board with the enthusiasm of quilting, although I can appreciate the finished product.

When I was little, we called this room the Death Room. This was because Mrs. Fountains ashes lived there for a very long time. Mrs. Fountain was an old lady who had no relatives who my parents adopted. I am not sure why she had sat  in the junk room for so long before she was buried under the olive tree in the garden. But there she was.

As kids, this was very concerning. Was her ghost hanging out in there too? Ever time we passed this room, we made sure we RAN. As we got older, and braver I was dared to go and open the white box which contained her ashes. Because if Johnny asked me to jump off the harbour bridge, would I do it?

DER! Yes I would.

I slid the top off the box and stared down. The box contained not only ash, but coarsely ground bits of bone.

I showed my siblings.

One of them screamed.

I dropped the box.

We all took off to the safety of our bedrooms.

No, this was a problem. There was a significant portion of Mrs. Fountain that was scattered on the floor of the Death Room. There were no grown ups at home and as far as the punishment scale went, this hadn’t happened to any of us before and the outcome was undefined by history.

After I calmed down, I got the dustpan and broom and swept Mrs. Fountain up as best I could, and emptied it back into the container. But not all of it went in. Eventually I had to get the vacuum cleaner out and hoover the rest of her up.

When Mum came home I confessed. I didn’t feel comfortable about the contents of the vacuum bag. It was fairly disrespectful to Mrs. Fountain to be in the vacuum bag. Mum was quite cool about the whole thing, which was pleasing. She admitted that it was probably about time that Mrs. Fountain went to her final resting place.

Which was under the tree. Now called the DEATH TREE which is totally haunted by not only Mrs. Fountain, but Grandpa and Grandma as well!

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The rumour was that if you swung on the swing you would wake the resting souls, who would then come to haunt you in your dreams. I never did risk it.

The End.