“Hello, I’m Saint Andrew Avenillo,” The tall wiry man in a long, white, billowy robe and an aquiline nose spoke with a light Italian accent. “Signorina Michelle, you may call me Andrew.”

“Andew?” The woman in the long gray satin chemise blew a curl of her disheveled brown hair out of her face. “Who the hell are you?”

Andrew blinked several times before saying, “I am the angel of sudden death. I’m here to help you pass on,” he waved his hand and a white envelope appeared in his fingers, “into heaven,” he smiled looking at the envelope, the last word sounding particularly beatific.

“Fat chance, Andy,” she said, looking around her at the featureless gray that surrounded them.

“I… do not understand…” his smile furrowing into confusion.

“I’m not going anywhere until I kill that bastard that killed me.”

“Scusami, signora,” he beamed a patronizing smile, “It seems you do not understand. This is perfectly natural. You died very suddenly and that can take some time to accept. Va bene, please take the time you need to accept that you have left this earthly plane. We will go in,” he looked at his watch, blew out a breath, “mmm, a few minutes.”

Michelle stared daggers at Andrew, then moved in slow, deliberate steps towards him, “Look, Andy,” she started, punctuating her words with an angry finger, “I know I’m dead. I’m pretty goddamn aware that my sociopath boyfriend,” she caught herself, “EX! EX-boyfriend Thane choked me out and is right now, as we speak, convincing the police that he killed me in self-defense. And he’s got the money to make it stick!” She stood immediately in front of Andrew who loomed over her a full foot taller, “So I’m not going anywhere until,” she stabbed up at his chest with her finger and spoke in a venomous whisper, “I. Make. Him. Pay.”

Andrew sighed. “Signorina, you realize you are dead and you cannot affect the living, yes?”

“No, no, no, Andy,” she said taking a step back so she could meet his eyes, “I’m not just dead, I’m a goddamn vengeful ghost. I’m going to figure this shit out…” and she spun and deliberately walked away from him into the indeterminate gray. As soon as she passed a few meters, the gray dissolved into the Thane’s bedroom with her body on the ground, and Thane weepily talking to the responding police officers. “Cry your alligator tears, party boy, I’m coming for you.”

***

“Will the defendant please stand while the jury reads the verdict,” the judge intoned.

Thane tried to standup, tripped and fell clumsily to his side, loudly knocking several chairs over on his way to the floor. One of the bailiffs rushed in and with Thane’s lawyer helped him to his feet.

Neither heard Michelle cackling in the row directly behind Thane. Andrew, seated beside her, shook his head disapprovingly. “Seriously, Signorina, tying his shoelaces together?”

Michelle shook with laughter, and held her hand up to Andrew as she guffawed. Finally catching her breath, she replied, “Oh, Andy, you gotta start somewhere! Last week I couldn’t even rattle a chain. I’d say I’m making good progress. Look at him,” she gestured towards Thane who was just getting to his feet, “He looks like a buffoon. I mean, he’s still going to get off, but at least I got a good laugh before I’m outraged.”

When order was restored, the jury foreman started, “We the jury find the defendant…” he paused dramatically.

“Get on with it!” Michelle yelled. No one heard anything.

“Not guilty on all counts.” Gasps filled the courtroom, as Thane pumped his fist and bro-hugged his lawyer.

“See? Because, of course this 6-foot-3 psycho felt threatened by my 5-2, 120 pounds. Yep, that makes sense.”

“Signorina Michelle, are we ready to go?”

“Go?”

“Si, cross over?”

“Oh, hell no. We’re just getting started…”

***

“Thank you for joining me, Amy. You look gorgeous,” Thane said to the willowy blonde wearing a cream dress cut to reveal a nearly obscene amount of décolletage. “Please,” he said motioning to the chair across from his, “have a seat.” He waited for her to sit before taking his own seat. The sommelier filled the woman’s glass with a ruby Beaujolais, then filled Thanes. “Thank you,” Thane said to the sommelier who nodded and silently walked away. He raised his glass, the blonde picked up hers. He smiled at her, his eyes tracing from her plunging neckline up to her eyes and back down, “To new beginnings,” he said and then threw the glass of wine at his date, who shrieked as the wine covered her.

“How’s that new beginning, jerkface?!” Michelle yelled at the flabbergasted Thane.

“Signorina,” Andrew stood behind her as she whooped and danced around in celebration, “We need to have a talk about forgiveness…”

***

The Bentley swerved violently towards the guardrail, sending up a shower of sparks into the early morning as it shrieked along the steel rail until the car came to a violent crash into the sand barrels at the end of the guardrail, airbag exploding into bloom. For a moment the accident scene remained quiet save for the hissing of escaping gases. Then the driver-side door rattled and opened, and Thane staggered out onto the asphalt coughing, blood dripping from his nose.

“Damnit,” Michelle yelled. “That was my best try yet!”

“I don’t know, Signorina, I was partial to the parachute that didn’t open,” Andrew said.

“Right? How’d I miss the reserve chute? At least he twisted his ankle, though.”

“Or when you caused that rock slide when he was climbing El Capitan.”

“I know!” she threw up her hands. “That stupid ledge! I thought his love of extreme sports would be his undoing… or my doing… or… Wait! Are you or, I don’t know, the guy upstairs protecting him?”

“Whoa, Signorina, it is what they call la fortuna.”

“Fortune? Luck? That’s what you’re telling me?” she gaped.

“Signorina, clearly it is not his time,” Andrew said. “We should really try to move forward, pass on. It is not his time, but we are passed your time.”

“No, no, no, no, I’m not done here. We’re just­–”

“Getting started. yes Signorina, yes. You have been at this for a year now. When will you accept that this is not your destiny?”

Michelle sagged. “I’m not willing to give it up just yet,” she said, though her tone belied defeat. She turned and started walking down the freeway.

“Signorina, where are you going?”

“I… just need a minute,” she said. “I need to… think.”

***

Thane reclined luxuriously in the steaming bathtub, as Monday Night Football blared on the 70-inch curved flat screen dominating the wall above his feet. Michelle sat frowning on the sink vanity across the bathroom, kicking her feet absently.

Andrew materialized standing next to her, looked over at Thane in the tub. “Signorina, if you were going to try drowning, this is hardly the place for it,” Andrew said. “After all, he does dive for abalone and the season opens soon…”

An enormous grin split Michelle’s face. “Andy, I’m impressed. A diving accident? I must be rubbing off on you!”

“I admit, Signorina, you have grown on me in the time we have spent together. I figured,” he turned to regard Thane, “If I gave you an idea and it proved… mortale, maybe you would be ready to move on.”

Michelle slid off the vanity to her feet, walked over to Andy and, without a word, hugged him. Andrew awkwardly patted her back. When she released him and stepped back, tears streamed down her face. “That is the nicest thing, Andy…”she wiped at her face and sniffled. “But I think you’re right.”

“Right, Signorina?”

“Maybe I do need to let it go. I mean,” she said crossing to the bathtub, “I’ve tried car accidents, poisons, equipment sabotage, setting him on fire, dropping tons of granite on him…”

“Don’t forget when he stabbed himself with those scissors, Signorina,” Andrew added.

She smiled at him, “He was literally running with scissors. How could I pass that up?”

“I will give you that,” Andrew acknowledged.

“But every single goddamn time, she gestured down at Thane in the water, “he comes out without so much as a broken bone!”

“Yes!” Thane yelled, the water swirling as he cheered for the touchdown on screen.

“What an asshole,” she said, shaking her head. She moved to the end of the tub and pointed at him, “He killed me, Andy. Choked me out! I was wonderful to him,” she started to sob, “And he… killed me. And there’s nothing I can do to get back at him.”

Andrew looked on, concern creasing his face.

“I’m done,” she said flatly, shaking her head but still looking at Thane. “I’m letting go, Andy. I’m ready. It’s time for me to move on,” she said and turned to face the angel. As she did she gently bumped the edge of the TV which jostled slightly… and then fell with an enormous splash into the bathtub. A shower of sparks and sizzle erupted from the submerged television as Thane jerked spasmodically. After a moment the electricity cut out, plunging the room into darkness, with Thane’s prone body in the water.

“Oh my God,” Michelle said, cupping her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God. I didn’t… Wait, did you… You couldn’t have… I mean you can’t… I mean…”

She stopped as the door to the bathroom burst into a solid wall of blinding light.

“Signorina,” Andrew said solemnly, “I believe that’s for you.” He smiled and gestured towards the light.

Michelle fought back tears and stood rooted for a moment, then burst across the room, throwing her arms around Andrew. “Thank you, Andy, for… everything.”

“Signorina, it has been my pleasure,” he returned.

She broke the embrace, took a step towards the light, stopped and turned around. “Saint Andrew,” she nodded to him, “I’ll see you?”

“Yes, Signorina,” Andrew. “On the other side. Eventually. Godspeed.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed and then turned and walked into the light which swelled to a painful intensity as it absorbed her and then blinked out of existence, replaced by the closed bathroom door.

The dark bathroom remained silent and dark for a few minutes as Andrew stood alone regarding Thane’s lifeless body.

“Whoa, what the hell, bro?!” Thane stood naked next to Andrew. “That… that’s me!” he said, pointing to his corpse. “I don’t understand… am I…”

“Dead,” Andrew said, turning to face Thane. “Hello,” he started, “I’m Saint Andrew Avenillo. Signore Thane, you may call me Andrew.”

“Andrew?” Thane repeated.

“I am the angel of sudden death. I’m here to help you pass on,” he waved his hand. A scarlet red envelope appeared between his fingers. “Oh,” he said, just the corner of his mouth curling into a smile.

Inspired by the real house across the street from my house, the Mushroom Hut. It has happened that I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and lights will be on up there. I haven’t gone across to check it out, though. If there are ghosts there, that’s fine. Ghosts make great neighbors — they’re quiet, for one. 

I’ve lived here for two years and I haven’t seen my neighbors. That’s not terribly surprising given that we’re in the woods and a lot of these places started out as – and many remain – vacation houses. Not close enough to the river to have been snatched up by developers or out-of-towners looking to convert it into an Airbnb, but still far enough away from the city to serve as a suitably-remote getaway. Probably paid off generations ago, there’s no financial guilt associated with it if they don’t visit regularly. Still, you would think I would have seen them at some point In the last two years, right?

And I certainly would have noticed because their house sort of looms over me. Perched atop a steep hillside, concrete steps run up from the driveway pad below, switch-backing up and up to the narrow deck which follows beneath the two ever-curtained bay windows like a permanently droopy eyelid under never-opening eyes.

Ray had met the neighbors once, he said. He lives up the hill. Doesn’t get out much. I check in on him, put out and take in his garbage cans, nothing big. Sometimes I make dinner for the two of us. That’s when I asked him about the Palmers.

“The who?” he said.

“The Palmers. The place across from me. There’s a faded wooden sign that says ‘the Palmers’ hanging by the gate to the deck.”

“Palmers…” he thought. “Oh, right, right, right. The mother… Audrey, yes – oh, she was a nasty, ornery thing. She and her husband bought the place in… 66? 67? Oh, I don’t remember. They weren’t regulars, but… let’s see… one summer it was her and the kids – three of ‘em, if I remember right – the father wasn’t there… Don’t know if he died or split. Mother always yelling at the kids – you know at night it’s quiet? Lawd, not when they were here. She’d carry on like…” he drifted off. “Year on years, the kids get older, Audrey gets meaner, grumbles more than yells, grumbles at grandkids… and they come less and less… I don’t remember the last time they were here…”

“Yeah, they haven’t been there since I’ve lived here.”

“That so? Well, yeah, I suppose so…” he was quiet a few moments, then chuckled to himself. “I remember old Audrey up there on the deck in her rocking chair, rocking and bitching. Inside at the window, rocking and bitching…”

But last night I woke up and the window eyes of the house glowed; someone was there. The lights weren’t on when I went to bed – I would have had to put my blinds down to sleep as all the lights were on with the windows glaring down at me. I looked at the clock – 3:15am. When I used to live next to some rental places I was used to Bay Area vacationers badly misjudging the time it’d take them to get up here and not arriving until 9, but 3 in the morning? That’s odd. I followed the stairs down from the brightly lit deck to the parking area – there were no cars there.

I’ll admit it, for a moment the situation spooked me, but then I started to worry because this didn’t look like the Palmers came up. No, this looked like squatters might have broken in. Look, I’m not the plutonic ideal of neighbor – I may turn my guitar amp up a little loudly at times, and I’m one to let a loud Xbox session run a little late, but, hey, I live in the woods, right? But there’s one thing I won’t abide, it’s squatters. Because here’s the thing: they break into a place, invite friends, trash the place, stay up for all hours, and if they get busted they’ll look for another place in the neighborhood. Meanwhile things disappear out of your yard, cars get broken in to… it’s a bad scene. Which is why I hurriedly dressed, then grabbed the bat I keep by the front door (see: living in the woods), the heavy Mag-Lite 8-D-Cell flashlight, and set off across the street.

I thought I could see movement behind the curtains of the windows as I started up the stairs, but there was no noise. I climbed the remaining flight trying to be as quiet as possible as I reached the deck. Still no noise as I tried to stealthily heel-toe across the creaky deck. Staring at the opaque windows I did see something moving in there, but still everything remained perfectly silent. I moved cautiously to the door on the far side of the deck. The red door featured four small windows in the upper half, and frilly curtains mottled yellow with age obscured the view into the cabin. I took a firm grip on the head of the flashlight, club-like, in my left hand, and cocked the bat back over my shoulder with my right. I edged towards the middle of the door to see if I could see anything between the two curtains. Just a sliver separated the two frilly curtains, but it was enough to let me peer into the cabin. No movement… no, I angled myself to look in towards the windows. The rocking chair rolled smoothly forward and backwards, forwards and backwards, forwards and backwards. The rocking chair was empty.

All the lights in and around the house blinked out all at once. Pure black darkness descended on me. I stumbled backwards but managed to keep my footing, and awkwardly fumbling with the flashlight for the power button. Flicking it on, I ran across the deck for the stairs. I know I heard my footfalls on the creaky timbers, but I swear I heard a grumbling sound from in the cabin. As I hit the stairs all I could think of was Ray’s words, “Rocking and bitching, rocking and bitching…”

I missed the last step, twisted my ankle, but kept running down the driveway pad, across the narrow road to my house. I closed and locked the door and drew the shade in my bedroom. I didn’t sleep that night and didn’t lift the blinds for months.

A week later I was coming home from work when I saw a minivan and a Suburban parked on the pad. I crossed from my driveway as a tall man with a goatee retrieved the last duffel bag from the back of the Suburban and closed the doors, turning to start up the stairs.

“Hey!” I said introducing myself. We shook hands as he introduced himself as Corey Palmer. I explained I lived across the street and keep and try to keep an eye on the place.

“Thanks,” Corey said. “Yeah, we haven’t been up here in a couple years. Our grandmother has been sick for some time and we just couldn’t get up here without her – it just felt wrong.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” I said. “Is she upstairs already?”

“No,” Corey said with sadness in his voice. “In fact, she died a week ago. We decided to come up here in her honor. You know, to sort of say goodbye.”

“A week ago?”

“Yeah, last… Saturday night… well, Sunday morning… The home said she died in her sleep. They gave the time of death around 3 am.”

“You don’t say…”