Merta Millhouse had big plans for one Jeffrey Johanson. That snot nosed pre-teen loved playing tricks on her. She lived alone.  She buried her first husband when the roof of a house fell on him. He was a firefighter. 

Number two died adjusting rabbit ears on the roof in a thunderstorm. She did warn him, well okay, she dared him. The insurance money was lovely. 

Number three had a heart attack while jogging. She had a replica made of him.  She moves him around the house so folks think she has a boyfriend.

Her "Replica" is  laid out on the couch. Subdued lighting will make it seem that she just stabbed him through the heart. A tape player will make moans and groans.  And when Jeffrey runs to tell his momma and daddy she will move him into the secret room behind the bookcase. He is on wheels and easy to move. The blood is dried glowy paint that looks wet. That boy will pee his pants.

She changed out the tape to the "Monster Mash". She did it just in time. Jeffrey came back with his Momma and Daddy. 

"Jeffery told us you had a man bleeding on your couch with a knife through his heart," said his Momma.

"Well, where is he then, where is all the blood," she inquired?

There were a few cursory glances, they apologized, and then left. Jeffrey told me, "he was not allowed to go trick or treating because they said he should not lie and try to get other people into trouble."

The next year when Jeffery came by, I had my "Replica hanging from the Hi beam in the ceiling. When he got back with his parents the "Replica" was sitting in the rocker looking very fake, and a skelton was hanging from the Hi beam.  He was forced to mow for me for free every other week until Christmas.

I married again. Not even a year, and he has proven himself to be the world's biggest pest. Vincent Ventura Vega was a good dancer, a fair cook, and had money. What he did not have was an on/off switch. He had firm opinions about everything. And insisted on sharing them.

In the kitchen he came in and told me about the life span of a fruit fly. Spoiler! It ain't long. Yesterday, when he came into the bathroom, while I was doing my business to tell me he was voting for " trump" because women are so bossy. Well, the bathroom scale was heavier than I thought. One whack and he was down. Not much blood at all.

I drug him into the tub. Good Lord! Is it seven already? Jeffrey came by, and said," He isn't falling for it. He is not getting in trouble. I can put a real one in that dumb tub for all he cares, and he would not say a thing.  So There!"

What a handy piece of luck that was.