Imagine a whole countryside full of dybbuks wanting their land back, demanding to know what became of their families, slipping beneath the skins of their Polish successors to live out the lives they were untimely torn from. I do, actually, all the time, some times of year worse than others.

To be relevant:
I have the same image and I thought it was yours. It was not Beagle unless it's somewhere in A Fine and Private Place that I missed. Maybe it really, really wants to be written out into the world and we should cautiously attempt it.