The bone cabinet stands in the living room, in an alcove away from the TV. It disturbs the occupants’ sleep. The cabinet holds them undying, in service to the family, until such a time that their remains might be released.
The chinoiserie tea caddy keeps the smashed assemblage of Henniwood, Father’s secretary. Mr. Kensington was pounded into dust and poured into the terracotta urn. To oversee the accounting. The small glass hummingbird? That’s Aunt Lucy. The hourglass I set there this morning is Father. The bone cabinet was his creation, after all.
Strike the summoning bell three times and speak your command. They cannot rest until it is done.
