When I tried to leave that night, Rita wouldn’t hear of it. I guess it was the way I looked when she first saw me as if I had no place to go… which wasn’t too far from the truth. For that first year after I escaped from Hell, I would sleep wherever I could: on top of roofs, in abandoned buildings, anywhere I could be alone.

Practically speaking, having a place where I wouldn’t have to worry about other demons or cops or the Guardians, a place where I could blend into society more, didn’t seem like a bad idea.

Rita was like Buster Freeze’s Flavor #101, the Kaleidoscope Surprise, which has all hundred flavors mixed into one. With each lick, you never know what you’re going to get, but it’s never going to be boring. That was Rita.

One moment, we’d be three-stepping along in our ballroom dance lessons with Mr. Tran; next, we’d be crying our eyes out to the latest telenovela or bedazzling every lampshade in her apartment. My favorite flavor of Rita had to be when she’d tell her stories deep into the night, especially about her late husband.

“Berto was the quietest boy I ever knew,” she would say, her eyes growing wistful, “always sitting in the back of the class, his doe eyes glued to his notebook, just filling up the pages with his drawings. I would sneak glances at him in my compact mirror until one time he looked up and saw me. I thought my heart was going to burst! But… I didn’t look away!” she said proudly, with a small laugh.

“What did he do?” I asked breathlessly.

“He just quietly went back to his drawing. But when he was walking out of class, he handed me the sketch he’d been working on. It was his dream car, a 1959 Cadillac El… El…”

“Eldorado.”

“Yes! That’s it! A convertible 1959 Cadillac Eldorado in argyle blue! He promised he would drive me around the city in one someday, but then… he was gone. Just like that… And it ended up being another one of his promises he couldn’t keep!” Rita said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “But that’s okay. He kept all the important ones. Every single one of them.”

I couldn’t do much for her. She had asked me a few questions about my life, but when it was obvious I didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t press me. She was willing to accept me as I was and didn’t ask for anything more. I would feel guilty sometimes because she had given me so much. The one thing I could do for her in these moments was offer a shoulder to lean on, so that’s what I did.

Then came her stories of the ghost on the third floor.

“That’s why it’s been empty for all this time,” she would say in a hushed voice. “Whenever anyone moves up there, strange things start happening, like with the Arlinskys, who moved out a few weeks ago. They were in such a hurry to leave they took only a few things of theirs and left everything else behind—furniture, pots, utensils… everything. Said it was all cursed!”

“What kind of strange things?” I asked with sudden interest.

“Everyone had the same stories. A woman who would sit at the foot of their beds, staring at them in the darkness. Waking up in the morning to see all of their pictures hanging upside down. The sound of glass breaking. This eerie coldness that would follow them everywhere. Believe me, I’ve experienced a few things myself. Like late at night, I sometimes hear someone running down the hallway barefoot.

“Another time, I had to take this maintenance man to the roof so he could service the water tower. I hurriedly led him down the hallway to the access door, holding my breath the whole time. I didn’t want none of that bad juju getting into me!

“I waited on the roof with him until he was done. I unlocked the door and opened it, but I swear to you, Sera, that someone… or something… grabbed the doorknob from inside and slammed it shut. I never screamed so loud in my life! But when the maintenance man opened the door, there was nothing. That was a few months ago, and I haven’t been up there since.”

Rita shivered visibly at the memory. Then she tilted her head as a thought occurred to her.

“But you know what’s really strange?” she asked. “All those sounds—doors slamming, feet running down the hallway, glass breaking—they’ve all stopped ever since you moved in. Isn’t that funny?”

I gave a slight chuckle.

“Hehe… yeah… That’s funny, all right.”

I knew what the thing was without even seeing it. It was a wanderer, a tortured human soul trapped in the world of the living. Compared to a demon, a wanderer’s powers are weak. That’s why it’s hard to detect them sometimes. It probably sensed my presence, so it made sense that it would be hiding.

No matter how much I loved living with Rita, I knew it couldn’t last. If I was going to increase my power, I would need the freedom of my own place, somewhere I could come and go as I pleased without being noticed. Before I could do that, though, I would have to confront the wanderer upstairs.

“So the rooms on the third floor are available for rent, then,” I said.

“Y-yeah…” Rita responded. “You’re not thinking of… Are you?”

“I’m a big girl now. You raised me well. It’s about time I spread my wings, don’cha think? Besides, with the upstairs rooms being so hard to rent, I bet I can get a good deal from the landlord.”

“You probably could, especially after I put in a good word for you. But Sera, aren’t you afraid?”

“It takes a lot to scare me.”

“Do you believe in ghosts and demons?”

I lifted my head and looked at her.

“You could say that.”

***

Unfortunately, as with most things, before I could get my own place, I needed to get a job— BRRR. The word gives me the shivers.

What self-respecting demon has a job? I was so used to just taking anything I wanted.

Sometimes, though, I admit, it’s better to have cold hard cash, like when I’m craving ice cream—which has been pretty much every day. It’s so much easier to hand over a few bucks than to commit petty theft for a couple scoops of Devil’s Fudge.

Whenever I ran out of money, I’d just wait next to an ATM and ask the next person who used it for a contribution.

And you know what? They never refused. Well, I can be pretty persuasive.

So when Rita was writing the check for the monthly rent, I sat down at the kitchen table with her and handed her all the money I had: a thick roll of twenties, fifties, and hundreds.

“Sera… wh-what is this?” Rita asked, her eyes wide with shock.

“It’s to help you with the rent and whatever else you need,” I said.

“I’m scared to ask, but… where did you get this?”

“I… found it?”

“Oh, Lord…” Rita buried her face in her hands.

“Is it not enough? I can get more.”

“No!” Rita exclaimed, holding out her hand in a “stop” motion. “Sera… if the cops knew how you got this money, would they be happy… or sad?”

“Not… happy?”

She sighed deeply and returned her face to her hands. I felt like when I was a little girl and my grandmother had caught me taking sweets from the candy jar.

After a moment, Rita raised her head and looked at me.

“I know you’re a good person, Sera. I have no doubt about that. The fact you’re giving me everything that you have is proof of it. But I can’t keep this money. And you have to promise me that you’ll never do this again. Can you do that?”

I knew why she was saying this. There are rules that we must all follow, whether we’re in Heaven, Hell, or here.

“I… promise,” I responded meekly. “But what do I do with all this?”