The door to the Regency Room at the Rolling Hills Country Club burst open. Inside the lights had just gone out, the candles extinguished with a hiss. A woman screamed.

In the open doorway a dark figure stood silhouetted against the florescent lights of the corridor outside.

“I object!” the figure bellowed in a voice that shook the room.

It started inside gliding down the aisle slowly. “Five years ago,” It spoke as it moved, “I promised my love to you and you agreed—”

“I’m going to cut you off right there,” the skinny woman in a black jumpsuit with her blond hair in a tight bun intercepted the ghost halfway down the aisle juggling a clipboard and a radio. “We’re past the whole ‘does anyone object to this marriage’ part. I’m sorry, but you’ve missed your chance on that, sir. Either take a seat or…”

The ghost stood back, towering over the blond woman by a good foot and a half. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m the wedding coordinator, Jen. I have a card here somewhere…” she fumbled around without immediately coming up with said card. “You know, nevermind. Let’s get you out of here. Back it up tall and ghoully…”

The ghost rose a foot off the ground a raised an arm, extending a bony finger towards the bride who stood next to her almost-husband, both holding recently-blown-out candles they had intended to light the unity candle with. “Amanda! You promised your soul…”

“Hey, ghost guy!” Jan snapped her fingers quickly. “Down here, buddy.” The ghost’s glowing ember eyes snapped down to her. “You. Missed. Your. Chance. Out of here!” she made a shooing motion. “Out!”

“How dare you!” the ghost roared.

“Look, you missed the ‘If anyone objects’ part. If you were here on time then, you know, maybe you could take Amanda’s soul to hell or wherever. But you missed it.” Jen advanced and the ghost slowly started backing towards the entrance.

“I was at the Garden Room! There are many rooms…”

“And who’s fault was that?”

“Well, maybe there should have been a map in the invitation, maybe better signage…” It neared the doorway.

“Did you get an invitation?”

“Well, not technically…” it stepped past the threshold.

“Right. No invitation, no entrance. Have a nice day.”

“Wait!” the ghost protested, but Jen had already closed the door. The ghost banged once on the door, but Jen held it fast. She turned, still holding the door closed. “Padre, light those candles again. Let’s keep this thing rolling!”

The wedding started late, but after being delayed by a year because of the pandemic and then another six months because of the Delta variant, no one noticed a few minutes. Besides, most of the guests were already misty-eyed when the bride started down the aisle in the same simple cream shift dress her grandmother had married her grandfather in so many years ago. Even her groom was resplendent in a black tux; if a tear escaped his eye seeing his soon-to-bride no one noticed – they were staring at her.

The guests sat as the bride reached the front and took her place next to her groom.

“We are gathered here together..,” the priest started the official part of the ceremony.

Everything was going as planned until the priest said, “If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The lights in went out.

All the candles went out wish a hiss.

The heavy wooden doors blew open in a thunderous crash and all eyes turned towards the back of the room where a dark figure stood silhouetted against the waning light outside.

“I object!” the figure bellowed in a voice that shook the room.

It started inside gliding down the aisle slowly. “Five years ago,” it spoke as it moved, “I promised my love to you and you agreed to marry me! And now you are here to be betrothed to another?” It raised a skeletal hand and pointed at the bride. “You promised me an eternity of love in exchange for your soul and you shall pay up, Amanda.”

“Wait, who?” the bride asked.

The ghost stopped midway down the aisle “Amanda!”

“Uh, I’m Elizabeth.”

“You’re… not Amanda?”

She shook her head.

“But…” the ghost sputtered, “the invitation… it says 6:30pm October 9, 2021, Rolling Hills Country Club, Regency Room…”

“Oh!” the wedding coordinator moved in from the back. “This is the Garden Room,” she explained, brandishing a map of the country club. “See, you’re here – the Garden Room. And here,” she pointed across the map, “Is the Regency Room.”

“Ah, I see!” The ghost said with genuine understanding. “Well, then, uh… if you will excuse me…” it started back down the aisle. “I’m really sorry. That’s a beautiful dress… you make a beautiful couple, really!” He reached the door and floated out of sight, the doors closing quietly as he left.

Lights came back on.

The priest looked at the groom and the bride and said, “Well, I’ll take that as no on objects…”

A scream could be heard somewhere across the complex.

Alice March walked down the cobblestone street, her little brown backpack bobbing along with her. She stopped in front of the towering white church. She looked at the guidebook in her hand, then at the church, then around at the people on the street.

She walked past the various groups of tourists sitting on the stone stairs in front of the church. No one looked at her.

Except one.

“scusami bambina,” The man with olive skin and a dark mustache asked.

“Oh,” Alice beamed at him, “You can see me!”

“Yes,” he said. “From one ghost to another. But you look lost.”

“Well, I am sort of… I’m Alice March,” she said.

“Piacere di conoscerti, Alice March. I am Gregorios Adamos. Perhaps I can help? What are you looking for?”

“Who. It’s who I’m looking for. I’m looking for Michelangelo.”

“Oh my dear child, you would be better off in Rome where he lived most of his life.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. I went there first, actually. I didn’t find him. But I’d read that he’s buried here at Basilica of Santa Croce and thought I would come see.”

“Ah,” the man said smiling and waving a finger at her, “You’re quite smart, little girl. Why are you looking for Michelangelo?”

“I want his autograph,” she said, pulling her autograph book out of here backpack.

The man regarded her curiously. “You are looking for autographs?”

“Yes,” she said brightly.

“But… you’re dead?”

“I am. I never had a chance to travel in my life,” she explained. “Now I can go anywhere, and I meet a lot of really interesting ghosts.”

“Perhaps you would like my autograph then?”

“Maybe, Mr. Adamos. I don’t know what you did.”

“Yes, my contribution to civilization is rather lost to history, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Was the first to milk a cow.”

Alice stifled a laugh. “The first to milk a cow? Really?”

“The first!” he declared solemnly.

“What about other animals? Goats? Sheep?”

“Copycats!” he said dismissively. They knew of the greatness of Gregorios Adamos and they wanted in their part! But everyone knows cow milk is so much better!”

“What made you think to milk a cow?”

“Well…” he started, “It started out as a joke. And it went badly… and then it went really well!”

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she pulled her autograph book out of her backpack and said, “Could you draw a little cow next to your name?”

“Of course,” he said, and opened to a page with a little room. Beneath Albert Einstein and squeezed between Joan of Arc and Leo Tolstoy he signed “Gregorios Adamos” with a flourish and a little smiling cow with little horns and – crucially – heavy udders.

“Thank you, Mr. Adamos,” she said taking the book back.

“You are very welcome. And good luck finding Michelangelo. He was a great man, sure…. But was he responsible for you having milkshakes?”

Alice giggled as Adamos walked down the street.