From time to time, stories of exhumed bodies are reported, but rarely do those involved offer an explanation. Mrs Stevens, seeming more grandmother than ghoul, holds little back as she describes what happened outside Wyalusing, a small town in northern Pennsylvania's Endless Mountains. She knows what people must think of her. But she had her reasons, and they are complicated, a bit sad, and in their own peculiar way, sweet. Dressed smartly in a light blue shirt and khaki skirt, silver hoops in her ears, her white hair swept back and her brown eyes clear and sharp, she offers a visitor a slice of pie, then casts a knowing look when it's declined. "You're afraid I'll poison you," she says. On a highboy in the corner of the dining room rests a handsome, black-and-white portrait of Jean, then a stunner in her early 20s, and James, clad in his army uniform. It was taken after their 1942 marriage but before his service in World War II, in which he fought in the Battle of the Bulge. After the war, James worked at a General Electric plant in Liverpool, New York, then as a car mechanic. He succumbed to Parkinson's disease on May 21, 1999. Next to that photo there is a smaller colour snapshot of Jean and June, taken when they were in their late 80s.

In many ways, Jean shared a closer bond with her twin than her husband. Though June lived more than 320 kilometres away in West Hartford, Connecticut, they talked by phone several times a week, and June wrote often. The twins - who, as it happened, married brothers - were honoured guests at the 70th reunion of the Camptown High School Class of 1937. Then, last year, June was diagnosed with cancer. She was in a lot of pain when Jean came to visit. The sisters shared a bed, and Jean rubbed her back. "I'm real glad you're here," June said. On October 3, June died. She was buried in her sister's backyard - but not for long. "I think when you put them in the [ground], that's goodbye, goodbye," Mrs Stevens said. "In this way I could touch her and look at her and talk to her."

She kept her sister, who was dressed in her "best housecoat", on an old couch in a spare room off the bedroom. Jean sprayed her with expensive perfume that was June's favourite. "I'd go in, and I'd talk, and I'd forget," she said. "I put glasses on her. When I put the glasses on, it made all the difference in the world. I would fix her up. I'd fix her face up all the time." She offered a similar rationale for keeping her husband on a couch in the detached garage. James, who had been laid to rest in a nearby cemetery, wore a dark suit, white shirt and blue knitted tie. "I could see him, I could look at him, I could touch him. Now, some people have a terrible feeling, they say, 'Why do you want to look at a dead person? Oh my gracious,'" she said. "Well, I felt differently about death."

Part of her worries that after death, there's ... nothing. "Is that the grand finale?" But then she gets up at night and gazes at the stars in the sky and the deer in the fields, and she thinks, "There must be somebody who created this. It didn't come up like mushrooms." So she is ambivalent about God and the afterlife. "I don't always go to church, but I want to believe," she said. Helen Lavretsky, a psychiatry professor at UCLA who researches how the elderly view death and dying, said people who are not particularly spiritual or religious often have a difficult time with death because they fear that death is truly the end. For them, "death doesn't exist", Dr Lavretsky said. "They deny death." Mrs Stevens, she said, "came up with a very extreme expression of it. She got her bodies back, and she felt fulfilled by having them at home. She's beating death by bringing them back."

There was another reason that she wanted them above ground. She is severely claustrophobic and so was her sister; she was horrified that the bodies of her loved ones would spend eternity in a casket in the ground. "That's suffocation to me, even though you aren't breathing," she said. So she said she had them dug up, both within days of burial. She managed to escape detection for a long time. The neighbours who mowed her lawn and took her grocery shopping either didn't know or didn't tell. Otherwise forthcoming, Mrs Stevens is vague when asked about who exhumed the bodies and who knew of her odd living arrangement. She blames a relative of her late husband for calling the authorities about the corpses. "I think that is dirty, rotten," she said.

State police - who have not yet released the identities of those who retrieved the bodies - will soon present their findings to the Bradford County district attorney. A decision on charges is expected in a few weeks. Mrs Stevens has spoken extensively to both the police and Bradford County Coroner Tom Carman, who calls it a "very, very bizarre case". But the coroner has nothing but kind things to say about the woman at the centre of it. "I got quite an education, to say the least. She's 100 per cent co-operative - and a pleasure to talk to," Mr Carman said. "But as far as her psyche [is concerned], I'll leave that to the experts." AP