The Price ( A Conctance Hatchaway poem.. under my other name HomeSweet Haunt)

Constance had hatboxes

that nearly caused a riot.

They followed her around the manse

refusing to be quiet,

They gibbered at her night and day

they said they missed her so.

They rolled behind her when she walked

wherever she would go.

The Ghost Host had enough of this

"We need some changes made," he said.

"You can't disturb the other ghosts

because you had to get ahead."

So now she sits out on the porch

with her grisly company.

The boxes are content, because they've made their point you see.

For every act, there is a price

that's paid eventually.