Jason sat in his recliner and glowered at his flickering television. His ghost chicken, and he’d started thinking of it as HIS ghost chicken, sat on top of his T.V. and screwed with his reception. Jason ground his teeth as the screen flickered and buzzed and showed nothing that was recognizable as a ballgame. It had been three days since the plant was closed and he’d developed an irritating rash on his neck and arms. Jason scratched absent-mindedly at the bumps on his arm as he eyed the hated chicken. To his surprise, one finally popped. Is that a feather?