The Brazilian Voodoo Bones

Did I every tell you I buried a sack of Brazilian voodoo bones in the backyard? The pearl inlay was fake, but the magic seeped into the soil somehow. The day I did it all the grass blurred and hissed and the rose bush your aunt loved so much withered and bloomed in loop for a full week after. I buried the bones because I was afraid, after stealing them, that the proper owners would want them back, find me with them, and shrink my skull, leaving it as a morbid souvenir for brave tourists. Somehow I thought the ground might hide the bones like it does corpses. But these were Brazilian voodoo bones, remember, and those tricky spirits die hard in this soulless American soil.