I worked my way through UC Santa Cruz working at the Round Table pizza on Mission Street. It’s no longer there – they tore the place down and replaced it with a taqueria a number of years after I graduated. On the weekends I stayed late to count the registers and there were frequently unexplained noises from the empty restaurant. Some nights I counted the tills with a kitchen knife right next to me – a lot of good it would have done! One of the managers said the place was indeed haunted, but other than noises which could have been any number of things and likely were, I didn’t see anything. Most of our delivery drivers were Brazilian, which is where I picked João from. And there was a guy – very much living at the time – who regularly ordered pineapple and anchovies – I know that sounds like a made up pizza, but I assure you, I had to make and sell that to this guy quite a few times. I’m not saying that young Jordy didn’t wish he was dead when I had to deal with that monstrosity of a pizza, but, as I said, he was – at the time – very much alive. Or was he? 

João parked in the “Delivery Drivers Only” spot behind Murphy’s Pizza and Wings and went in the employee entrance.

“Hey, João,” Mike, the manager greeted him. “I’ve got one more delivery for you.”

“No,” João replied, “I’m off at nine – it’s already nine fifteen!”

“I know, I know – I was going to have Kenny do it, but it’s your favorite place,” Mike grinned.

João abruptly stopped and stared at Mike. “515 McGovern?”

Mike’s grin widened and he nodded, “515 McGovern.”

“Anchovies and pineapple?”

“The only thing they ever order,” Mike confirmed. “Came in online, paid for and tipped.”

João stood stock still for a moment and then said simply, “When?”

Mike was already in motion, pulling a pizza off the oven’s conveyer belt with a wooden peel and transferring it to the cutting board in a smooth, practiced motion. “Right here,” he said picking up the long two-handled pizza cutter blade. Before he finished the cuts João had a box ready and Mike slid the pizza into the waiting corrugated cardboard, placed a little plastic pizza table into the middle, closed the box and slid it into the insulated bag.

“Good luck,” Mike said. “I know you’re after your time. Text me when you’re done, I’ll punch you out.”

“Thanks, Mike,” João said.

At a stoplight he verified the printed order, but everything was exactly the same – the “Delivery Notes” said, “Please ring doorbell and leave pizza on porch.” He drove past the streetlights at the edge of town and turned down McGovern Avenue a mile further. At the end of the road stood a dilapidated house. No lights shone within – João wondered if it even still had power. He’d been here during the day after the first few deliveries out of pure curiosity. In the daylight the peeling paint, cracked windows, and overgrown yard made the place look decrepit and sad. At night, lit only by the wan moonlight, the house looked imposing and, frankly, terrifying. In his mind, this is what Casa das Sete Mortes looked like that his avó used to tell him scary stories about – the “House of Seven Deaths” outside of São Paulo.

He stopped in the dirt driveway with his headlights angled towards the front door so he wouldn’t twist his ankle trying to walk up the broken path to the porch. He closed the door and shivered even though the night wasn’t particularly cold. He hurried up the porch and carefully set the pizza down right in front of the door, rang the doorbell and quickly raced back to his car.

He jumped into the driver’s seat of the idling Toyota, turned quickly and sped out of the driveway. But as soon as he reached the road he stopped the car, turned the engine off, grabbed the binoculars he kept in the car just for this reason, hopped out and ran as quietly as he could back down the driveway.

João stopped behind a tree with a direct view of the front porch – a spot he had decided on when he reconnoitered the place in the daylight. Looking through the binoculars, he could see the pizza still on the porch – he was still in time! He tried to quiet his breathing and slow his heartrate, but fear, anticipation, and the run down the driveway conspired to keep him keyed up. Just when he wondered whether he was wasting his time, he noticed movement.

The door started to open slowly.

João held his breath and stared intently.

From the widening crack of the front door, João could see a luminous glow – not like from an electrical light, but a more indistinct, diffused radiance. As the door opened wide enough, a figure moved out onto the porch. João could see the glowing figure of what looked like a middle-aged man lean down, pick up the pizza and then step back inside the house and slowly close the door.

“Oh meu Deus,” João breathed.

“I know!” A voice behind him spoke. “I keep telling him if he keeps ordering that disgusting pizza, I’m staying outside. It smells terrible!”

João turned to see a glowing woman ghost behind him. With a shriek, João sprinted into the darkness towards his car. “Right?” The ghost said after him. “Who orders that?!”