One of the games I see the local kids playing often is called kmike. One of the kids tries to look and act as scary as possible and chases all of the other terrified, screaming kids. “It’s the kmike! Run!” they shout. I wondered what a kmike was.

One day, some of the kids were talking excitedly about a hike into the jungle we were planning to take with them. “We must be careful,” one of our landlords nephews said, suddenly solemn. “There are lots of kmikes in the jungle.” We mustn’t be out after dark.”

“What’s a kmike?” I asked.

“They are dead people’s spirits,” ten-year-old Vunsee explained with round, serious eyes.

“Sometimes there are kmikes in the village or in houses. But in the jungle there are lots. There was a kmike in this house,” he said, pointing at our home. Grandpa died and came back here. He followed our family all around. He would scare us and make us sick. We got him to leave the house, so then he went to a tree in the yard. But now the tree is cut down, so we don’t know where he went. Maybe he’s in those bushes, maybe in the jungle.”

Now I understood why we had found white crosses painted inside the house. We had asked the landlord what they were. He had said they were to protect the house from something, a word we hadn’t learned yet. We had suspected the crosses had a spiritual significance, but now we knew. We removed the crosses and asked that God’s spirit would fill our home with such a loving, drawing influence, that the difference between those dark spirits and His spirit would be unmistakable.

Lord, may our home be a haven of warmth from the cold fear that grips the hearts of the Cham people. May it be a beacon of light in the darkness of evil spirits. Plant Your bloodstained banner here. Make it Your headquarters. May Your everlasting love spread its drawing power to all those who come here.

• Twitter