Goat did the right thing and took in his grandmother. His parents died a few years before. He had a spare room. And it was only temporary.
It was fine all summer. Nice, even. She kept to herself mostly. Watched TV.
But come fall, the old woman inhabited every room of the house at the same time. You couldn’t get away from her. She smelled afraid. There were rituals to observe. Candles lit in the front windows at dusk. Blinds drawn tight in the back.
She insisted Goat carve a battalion of jack-o’-lanterns. But he had to burn the seeds.