Horror

The woman beside the scarecrow

Leah Grant had brought two cardboard boxes to empty her grandmother's house. One was for plates. The other was for things nobody would want but she could not yet throw away. By noon the second was full and the first contained a single cracked saucer. She was thirty-three, an estate clerk, and capable of explaining to other people how little a room's contents could settle. She had left her own forms unopened on the kitchen table.