This came from an idea that Akilah suggested. And I love it when I take one of her ideas and run with it because after I finish my story I take my ancient MacBook out to her and read the story aloud and inevitably she says something like, “I like it… but that’s nothing like what I had in mind.” And that’s totally fair! We all have ideas and in our own mind’s eye that idea blossoms in a particular way, the story curving this way and that in a way our imagination sees fit. So, when you loose that idea, that kernel and someone else takes it… that’s part of the fun. (She did say she liked it, though!)

Everyone has always been afraid of the haunted house at the end of the street. We just never really knew why.

Let me back up and tell you about the neighborhood. It’s your typical cul-de-sac with cookie-cutter houses – mostly two story – sat on lots maybe a little too small for the houses, with little postage-stamp sized lawns in front. Two car garages stuffed with bicycles, kids’ toys, boxes, tools – never cars (except that one family that keeps their pristine Camry in the garage – we’re all wary of them…). Every Fourth of July there’s a block party. We all coordinate Christmas lights. It’s that kind of a place.

Well, almost. At the end of the cul-de-sac there’s a weed-choked dirt road that leads into brambles and down the hill. At the bottom is the most haunted house in the world. Okay, I mean, I heard some kids saying that, but it’s probably just the most haunted house in the state, right? County? City? It’s absolutely the most haunted place in our neighborhood. But that’s really all anyone knows about it.

Those same kids will dare each other to see how far down that dirt road they’ll go by themselves at night. And there are stories about witches driving kids off their property, or stories about murderous drifters who squat in the house. Supposedly an old man lived there with his dog that loved to attack kids balls – no, sorry, that’s the movie “Stand By Me.” But you see? There’re so many myths about this house and no one really knows what the story is.

Well, I’m about to find out.

Because I’m dead.

Did I bury the lede there? I probably did, yeah. Alright, well, it’s true. I am dead. I died a couple weeks back. It was out of the blue, really. I got the worst headache I’ve ever had – it made migraines look like annoyances. My wife made me lie down in a dark room – we were thinking super migraine – and I never woke up. I stuck around to hear doctors say things like “subarachnoid hemorrhage” and “ruptured intracranial aneurysm”. I knew enough of those words to know they’re terrible. And watching my family dealing with my sudden death… I wanted to stick around and comfort them, but… I’m a ghost. I wanted to be like Casper the Friendly Ghost, right? But they were… look, I’m going to move on, okay? I didn’t want to be there when I couldn’t do anything to assuage their grief, so… I thought about the haunted house at the end of the street.

I walked through the (closed) front door of my house at 622 Western Court, turned left and walked to the end of the street. When I reached the dirt road, I took one more look over my shoulder at my old house. The Taylors had just pulled up… looked like they were bringing Myra and the kids a casserole. They’ll love that… I turned and started down the dirt road.

When the house came into view the sun was setting and the place was dark. I don’t know what I expected – of course it was dark: it was an abandoned house! But I don’t know, I thought I’d have some sort of ghost sight – like cats have? Spectral night vision? Something to see my soon-to-be haunted house mates?

When I walked through the boarded up front door, though, I was greeted by… nothing. There was nothing and no one in there! I went through the whole house top to bottom. By top I literally mean all the way up to the roof. By bottom, I went down into the basement because I figured I shouldn’t be afraid of what’s lurking in the creepy basement because I was an actual ghost myself – I should be afraid of myself! But nothing.

The most haunted house in the world (or just the neighborhood) was ghostless. “Was” being the operative word, because it was my new home. It was dark and drafty, or I assumed it was owing to the broken windows and lack of lights, but it suited me just fine. There was even a rotting old bed in an upstairs bedroom that was comfy enough for me to rest my incorporeal body in when I got “tired” (I didn’t actually get tired, but old habits die hard (no pun intended) and sometimes it was fun to sleep for the sake of sleeping). It also had a great view of the reservoir further down the valley.

Maybe I was making too much noise or something, but I don’t think I was enjoying my new digs for a month before I came downstairs and ran into another ghost. “Dwayne? Dwayne Russell? What are you doing here? I thought you were dead?”

Dwayne looked at me incredulously. “Yeah, Bob, we’re both dead.”

“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. But, I mean, didn’t you die a couple years ago?”

He let out an enormous sigh and said, “I did. I was trying to stick around by my family but…”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “What brings you to this place?”

“You were making so much noise!”

Okay, that’s actually pretty funny from a ghost perspective because, no, I wasn’t making much actual noise that would resonate in the living world. But ghost noise – not unlike ghosts ourselves – is governed by some weird physics (or lack thereof). So, even me just being here made a certain kind of spectral racket that attracted Dwayne.

And it wasn’t long before Mrs. Andrews came by – she had died from Alzheimer’s a couple of years back. Honestly, I never knew her before the disease – she was a kick as her pre-Alz self in ghost form. Dead pets started coming around – Scooter, my daughter’s cat that got hit by a car, sleeps with me on my rotting bed every night. By the end of that month the house was teeming with ghosts from the neighborhood. We were our own ghost support group! The jury is still out on whether it’s now the most haunted house in the world, but I can say it’s the best haunted housing in the world.

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?!”

“So, you just told them you’re taking a day off?” Mary said around sips of her bottomless mimosa.

“Yep.”

“And they’re just okay with that?”

“I mean, there was some pushback,” she said, sipping her bloody mary. “But it’s been such a crazy month! And did I tell you about that mummy?”

“The one with all the dust?”

“Yes!” Allison said, jabbing the pickled bean from her drink for emphasis. “Ugh, so much dust…”

The waiter set their food down, asked if Mary was ready for another mimosa (she was), and headed off.

“Oh my god, this smells so good! I’m famished!” Mary said and both women dug into their breakfasts and were quiet for some time.

The lull in their conversation allowed Allison to overhear the conversation at the table next to them. She snuck a glance back and then snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Mary asked after a bite of her crab benedict.

Allison leaned in and said quietly, “That table behind me?”

Mary looked over Allison’s shoulder. “The one with the blonde woman and the dark-haired woman?”

Allison nodded and then said, “The blonde woman said she feels like her grandfather is watching over her.”

“Aww, that’s sweet!” Mary said.

“It is, sure, but he’s literally standing right next to her complaining about all her decisions – he just said her omelet looked burned and she should send it back like she sent her husband back.”

“Ouch!”

“I’m right, too!” the voice in her ear startled Allison and her fork clattered onto her plate.

“Oh, I see, you startle pretty easily for someone who can see ghosts!” the grandfather ghost said. Allison closed her eyes in frustration.

Mary studied here friend while she sipped her mimosa and then said seriously, “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“Your friend’s pretty sharp!” the ghost said sarcastically. “Real Einstein there!”

Allison gave Mary a tight nod and just said, “Mmm hmm.”

“What’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue, lady?”

“Pardon me,” Allison said to Mary. Then, turning to the ghost directly she said quietly but sternly, “Look here, gramps. You may get some afterlife kick complaining about everything your granddaughter does that you don’t like, but I’m having a day off from ghosts, so just step off.”

“The nerve!” the old man said aghast. “When I was your age,” he started but was cut off by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a tall, skinny man standing behind him. “Who the hell are you?”

“The name is Jameson. I’m a friend of Allison’s. I believe you heard her say she’s having a day off. I suggest you respect her wishes to be left alone.”

The old man stiffened and stuck his chin up, “Or what?”

“Or else,” Jameson said, and gestured behind him where a cloud of black smoke coalesced into an enormous hulking figure with menacing red eyes. “Carl.”

The old man’s eyes became cartoon-huge and he stammered, “Umm, hey, I was just trying to have a conversation…” he started staggering backwards. “I was, err, I was just, leaving…” and he disappeared.

“Jameson? Carl?” Allison asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Carl is the tall guy and Jameson is the big scary ghost that’s actually really nice?” Mary asked, going back to her benedict.

“Other way around – Jameson is tall and skinny, and Carl is the big scary softie.”

Carl opened his mouth and screeched.

“I meant ‘softie’ in the most respectful way,” she added.

Carl squeaked his approval.

“Seriously, guys, what are you doing here?”

“Well, right after you left I was feeling rather hurt and thought I, too, would take day off…”

“How do you take the day off, you’re a ghost?”

Carl squeaked something.

“Yeah, sorry I asked.”

“Anyway, we thought you taking a day off wasn’t a terrible thing…” Carl made a grinding noise. “Okay, Carl convinced me you taking a day off wasn’t a terrible thing. But we thought you might need, I don’t know, protection in case other ghosts weren’t so accommodating of your day off. And it looks like we got here just in time.”

Allison smiled. “Thank you guys,” she said, then looked more stern. “But I am taking a day off…”

“Oh yes, of course,” Jameson said, and turned and walked through Carl who expanded back into smoke. Allison went back to her Denver omelet.

“Recap?” Mary asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Allison said between bites. “That grampa ghost was being obnoxious and Jameson and Carl told him to buzz off.”

“So, they’re not letting you have a day off?”

“No, they’re just being protective. They disappeared.”

“You know, Allison, being your friend has some fascinating moments.”

Allison just smiled.

– – –

Allison was doing her best to enjoy her massage at the spa, but through the new age music and incense she couldn’t not hear the masseuse’s old boss telling the young man all the things he’s doing wrong.

“Is everything okay?” the masseuse asked.

“Yes…” she started. “Could you, umm, get me another towel for my head?”

“Certainly,” he said and hurried into the next room.

Allison said quickly and quietly, “Hey, guy! I’m trying to enjoy my day off! Can you please leave Antony alone for at least the duration of my massage?”

“You can see me?” the ghost said surprised.

“Yes, and hear you! I’m trying to relax here!”

Antony came back into the room and carefully placed a rolled towel under her neck. “Is that better?”

Allison saw the ghost step back and disappear. “Yes, much better!

– – –

On her way home she walked past the cemetery a block from her house. She could hear quiet voices calling out to her, imploring her to come in and visit them.

“Not today, gang,” she said. “I’m taking a day off!” and kept walking.

A moment later Jameson and Carl passed by, too. Jameson said to the voices, “You heard her! A day off!”

– – –

Allison closed the front door behind her and dropped her keys into the bowl on the table just inside. “I’m home,” she said.

Jameson and Carl appeared. “Does this mean your day off is over?” Jameson asked.

“Not quite,” Allison said. “I’m going to go take a bath,” she said. “By myself.”

“Of course,” Jameson said as she went up the stairs.

Carl made a grinding gear noise. “That wasn’t so bad. Maybe we should give Allison a day off more often.”

“I agree,” Jameson said.

From upstairs came Allison’s angry voice, “Jameson! Carl! Why is the mummy in my bathtub?!”

“You know,” Jameson said, “I think it’s time for our day off.” And they both vanished.