Ghosts in the Attic Read Free Page B

television when the doorbell rang. Grunting, he muted the TV and hurried down the short hall to the foyer. He was looking forward to a quiet evening at home, and this interruption was most definitely unwelcome.
    “Yes?” Grayson said, pulling open the door. A teenaged boy in black pants and blue shirt with matching blue cap stood on the doorstep, holding a pizza box. “Can I help you?”
    The boy held up the box. “Extra large veggie. That’ll be fifteen ninety.”
    Grayson blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “Fifteen ninety,” the boy repeated with a smile, rocking on the balls of his feet. Steam was rising from the pizza box.
    “I think there’s been a mistake. You must have the wrong house.”
    The boy consulted a scrap of paper in his palm. “Is this 409 Prescott Road?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Then this is the right house.”
    “No, it isn’t,” Grayson said slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. Somewhere behind him, Agent 007 was sipping a martini with a buxom blonde, and he was eager to play voyeur. “I didn’t order a pizza.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure. I think I would know if I ordered a pizza.”
    “Perhaps someone else at this residence ordered the pizza and forgot to mention it to you,” the boy said, undaunted, his smile never wavering.
    “There’s no one here but me, son, and I will say this just one final time, so listen closely. I did not order a veggie pizza.”
    “But this is the correct address,” the boy said, holding out the scrap of paper with Grayson’s address scribbled on it, as if that proved something. “That’ll be fifteen ninety.”
    “I didn’t order any fucking pizza!” Grayson shouted and slammed the door in the boy’s face.
    Grayson waited by the door until he heard footsteps retreating down the walk, then an engine revving and a car pulling away from the curb.
    “Damn stupid kid,” he muttered, returning to the den and Bond, James Bond.
     
    * * *
     
    The next morning, when Grayson stepped outside to retrieve the paper, he found a pizza box sitting on his doorstep. Raising the lid, he discovered a cold veggie pizza inside, a large fat slug squirming along the edge of the crust.
    “Unbelievable,” Grayson said, closing the lid and taking the box to the trashcan by the driveway. “The kid is nuts.”
     
    * * *
     
    Grayson was taking a Sunday afternoon nap on the sofa when he was awakened by the doorbell. He stretched languidly and stumbled to the door.
    “Extra large Meat Lovers,” the delivery boy said. He was wearing the same outfit, and the same megawatt smile. “That’ll be thirty-one eighty.”
    “You’ve got to be shitting me?”
    “No, sir. That’s fifteen ninety for the Meat Lovers, and fifteen ninety for last night’s veggie.”
    “I threw that damn veggie in the trash.”
    The boy shrugged. “It’s not my business what you did with the pizza, sir, but you still have to pay for it.”
    “I didn’t order that damn pizza,” Grayson yelled. “And I didn’t order this one either.”
    The boy pulled another scrap of paper from his pocket and said, “Is this 409 Prescott Road?”
    Grayson snatched the paper from the boy’s hand and ripped it in two. “Look, son, either you’re playing some kind of joke on me, or someone is playing a joke on you. Either way, I did not order these pizzas and I will not be paying for them.”
    “That’ll be thirty-one eighty, sir,” the boy said as if he hadn’t heard a word Grayson had said.
    Grayson had the overwhelming urge to punch the boy right in the face, but he resisted it, just barely. He scanned the boy’s shirt, cap, and the pizza box, but none of them had any kind of logo printed on them. “What pizza place do you work for, son?”
    With his ever-present smile, the boy said, “The same company you called to order the pizzas, sir.”
    “I didn’t call anybody, but if you don’t stop bothering me, I will be calling the cops on your sorry ass.”
    Grayson slammed the