recognizes Harry's soul

“Yeah,” Bob said, still serious. “You are in a scary place, Harry.” He took a deep breath. “And . . . it gets worse.”
“Worse? How?”
“It’s just a theory,” he said, “because this isn’t my bag. But look. There’s flesh and there’s spirit, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Mortals have both, right there together, along with the soul.”
“I thought it was the same thing. Soul, spirit.”
“Um,” Bob said. “Complicated. Think of your spirit-self as a seed. Your soul is the earth it grows in. You need both when you die. The way I’ve heard it . . . they sort of blend together to become something new. It’s a caterpillar-butterfly thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “How does that make it worse?”
“You, here, now, aren’t a spirit,” Bob said. “You aren’t a real ghost. You . . . You’re just running around in your freaking soul, man. I mean, for practical purposes, it’s the same thing, but . . .”
“But what?”
“But if something happens to you here, now . . . it’s for keeps. I mean . . . forever. You could capital-E End, man. Spin right off the wheel altogether. Or worse.”
I swallowed. I mean, I realized that I’d been in a serious situation all the way down the line, but not one that could potentially be described using words like eternal. Joy.
Bob shook his head. “I didn’t think it was possible for them to do that to you. According to what I’ve heard, your soul’s your own. I’d have thought you would have to walk into something like this willingly, but . . .”
I held up the heel of my hand and butted my forehead against it in steady rhythm.


Ghost Story Chapter 35, Page 375