My aunt Rachel practically raised me. After a lengthy battle with terminal illness, she

passed last year, leaving what little she had left after the hospital bills were paid.

I was the take care of a cocktail parrot, tugboat, and a collection of 50s cartoon themed

collective plates. Basically, the only two items that couldn't be easily sold at an auction.

If you saw the plates, you'd see why. Don't write creepy things. One, in particular,

a plate portraying a young cartoon girl feeding apples to a giant frog.

It's like the whole thing's made by two different people. The girl looked positively

Disney, or the frog was more. I don't know. I'm comfortably unrealistic.

It was such an odd item that there had to be a collector looking for it somewhere.

I was sure of it. Yet for weeks, I couldn't find anyone even remotely interested.

I posted pictures of the plates on pretty much every social media account I had,

along with a few auction sales. But there were no takers.

There were no markings or stamps indicating gear or brand, unlike the other plates.

And I was starting to think it was custom made. I couldn't stand looking at it.

So I put it in a box in the garage. The others went up on my kitchen wall. My aunt would have

wanted it that way. I live in a house not too far from Lake, on the outskirts of a small

Minnesota town. There were a few houses in the nearby area, but I couldn't even hit the

closest neighbor's yard with a rock if I tried. There's only a single street like that works

outside, and that thing is flimsier than a summer weather. I rarely have any visitors,

as this place can be a bit too out of the way, even for my friends to come by.

I inherited this place from my mom, who passed away when I was younger.

I'm one of the lucky house owners of my generation. But, and what cost?

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