It was a dreary midnight in a bleak December. Fred was thinking about signing off for the night and hurrying home to crank up the space heater and crawl under a heap of blankets. He was huddled up in a doorway somewhere near his last delivery, staying out of the wind while he waited for the next one to come in. He shuffled his feet and wondered if werewolves still got cold when they were in human form. He was sure they'd be warm in wolf form, but he didn't think it would be worth getting bit if the warmth was only there for a couple of days each month. Plus, he could get rabies if he wasn't careful.

Fred Lee believed in many things--too many, his aunt would say. "There is only one God. Is His infinite Love not enough for you?" she would say, capitalizing the important words with her voice. "Why do you go chasing your monsters and fairies in the woods?"

Fred was unsure about the all-loving father in the sky, but he was unwavering in his belief in sasquatches and Yeti and chupacabras, goblins and mothmen and Jersey devils, weevils and djinn and kami and all else that goes bump in the night. The other thing Fred believed in, despite all evidence to the contrary, was himself. After earning his master's degree in cultural anthropology with a focus on contemporary cryptozoology, Fred had struggled to find work that was relevant to his degree. Last week he had applied for the sixth time to a position at the city's natural history museum. Fred believed that this time they would call him back.

For now though, Fred was doing delivery through one of the apps. It was a temporary gig, something super temporary, he had said, just something temporary to pay the bills until the job market picked up again. Yesterday, Unlivery had sent him an email congratulating him on his first "unliveraversary" and being a "high-rated, 4.8 smiley-face unliverer!" "Unlivery: It's not delivery. It's different," read the email's footer. Fred wondered sometimes if their marketing department was in on the joke, if they really knew how dumb they sounded. He couldn't decide. He found their patronizing emails grating and couldn't stand their lime green brand color, but it was the only delivery app in the city that offered health insurance and, anyways, the museum would be getting back to him soon.

From the mount on his bike's handlebars, his phone lit up bright green and dinged a cheerful ding. There it was: his last delivery. Fred quickly accepted the job. At a glance, the custom delivery instructions seemed long and tedious, but he could read them later. The tip was good and the restaurant was Jade Garden, one of Fred's favorites. One more delivery, he thought. Two large vegetable lo meins carried just over two miles to 202 Kingsford Place, Apartment 322, and then the sweet warmth of home. One more delivery and no more.

Fred tugged his gloves back on, hopped on his bike and pedalled into the dark streets. As he picked up speed, the cold wind bit at his cheeks and snuck into his gloves. It's good to be alive, thought Fred, but it'd be better to be a werewolf. Or a Yeti! Yes, a Yeti would be perfectly warm all year round. Standing up on the pedals, Fred pumped his way up a steep hill. All downhill from here, he thought. All downhill from here. He wondered about all the two's in this delivery. Fred wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one. He didn't know of any cultures where two was considered lucky or unlucky. People the world over seemed indifferent about the number two. He should call his old professor to confirm. He hoped two would prove lucky tonight. Two-night! Ha!

He had arrived at Jade Garden. He leaned his lime green bike against a spindly tree and hurried inside. Unlivery had made him spray-paint his bike that color--at his own expense--but he wasn't really upset about it anymore. He hadn't warmed to the color, but, somehow, it had made his bike immune to theft. There seemed to be a tacit agreement among all the criminals and would-be criminals in the city to leave all the brightly colored delivery bikes alone. Maybe the apps were paying off the mob. Maybe the criminals used the apps too and didn't want their orders slowed down by the locking and unlocking of bicycles. Fred thought the fairies were involved.

"Nǐ hǎo hǔ zi!" shouted Ms. Lin, the restaurant's owner. Fred grinned in greeting and then frowned in focus, trying to keep up with Ms. Lin's rapid stream of chatter. His Chinese had gotten rustier and rustier since moving out of his aunt's place. And Ms. Lin often didn't make much sense, which didn't help matters either. She was going on about bad omens and dark wings come in on cold winds and then suddenly about her daughter, Linda, and when would she and Fred finally get married or could he at least take her on a date, she was so lonely, and so beautiful, too, and wouldn't it be nice if he took her out for some good Italian food, wouldn't it be nice for him to take a break from all his studying and treat Linda to something nice for a change before she got all old and wrinkly like her poor mom? Ms. Lin was somehow under the impression that Fred was in medical school and only working delivery to pay for his classes. Fred had never said anything to suggest as much, but he hadn't protested when she had first referenced it. If he came clean now, he would seem like a liar. Maybe she had confused him with someone else. Maybe the fairies were involved. Anyway, he didn't want to marry Linda Lin, who was gay, but Fred nodded and smiled and laughed. "Soon," he said. "After midterms."

Feeling was beginning to return to Fred's fingers. It was getting late. He glanced meaningfully at the brown bag on the counter. Ms. Lin, thankfully, picked up on the glance, and, apologizing, handed him the bag. "Be safe!" she said. "Come by soon, okay?"

Fred put the order in the lime green box attached to his lime green rear rack and pumped the lime green pedals into the dark night.

***

Soon, Fred was rolling up to 202 Kingsford Place, his breath ragged after climbing the final hill. At least he had warmed up a little. The building loomed above him, a massive stone edifice that dominated the hillside. It was U-shaped, with a narrow courtyard down the middle. A tall, iron gate separated the courtyard from the sidewalk. There were no lights on in the whole building. Only the dim, flickering glow of a nearby streetlight lit the scene. Even from the sidewalk, Fred could smell the decaying wet leaves that were piled in the courtyard.

Fred wondered why he had never delivered here before. He had delivered all over the whole city at this point, but never on Kingsford before and never at 202 Kingsford. It was strange; the rest of the buildings on the block had numbers in the three thousands. This was the only building in the two hundreds. Fred was worried that he was in some sort of time rift situation, this ancient building blinking briefly into existence to capture its next victim before returning to the century it belonged. If so, the fairies were certainly implicated. But this was foolish, wishful thinking. The address was on Unlivery. The order was paid for and the tip was generous. The fairies didn't tip. They also didn't use apps, Fred knew. Just a gloomy old building, Fred thought. Only this and nothing more.

Fred got off his bike, took out the food, detached his phone, and walked up to the gate. He tugged at the iron bars. It was locked. He looked around for a bell, but saw none. There was a rusty knocker fashioned into a horned goat high in the center of the gate, but Fred was sure that no one in the building would hear it. Oh, remembered Fred, the instructions!

The large tip was starting to make more sense. Fred was beginning to suspect that other powers were at work. Darker and more primeval than the fae folk. The instructions went on and on. Wind through the basement, up some stairs, down a hallway, left, left again, never right, down some stairs, up again and again, and along another hallway, through a door and then finally arriving at the apartment, always hurrying, always making sure the noodles wouldn't get cold. Fred thought that the noodles would be much less likely to get cold if the recipient would just come down to meet him at the front door. Some people could be so lazy. But the tip was good. At least the tip was good.

Fred stretched up on his tiptoes to reach the knocker. He rapped it against the gate three times. Thrice and no more! He pushed against the gate. It didn't budge. Struggling to navigate the Unlivery app with his cold fingers, Fred pulled up the instructions again. "...knock. Knock and knock thrice! Thrice! No more," it said. Fred was confused. He had knocked thrice. But did he have to knock and then knock thrice more? Four knocks total? Or once, twice and then three more for five? And maybe another thrice after that? Who wrote this crap? The fairies were known to be ambiguous, but if they didn't want cold noodles, they could have been more clear. Maybe they did want cold noodles. Who would want cold lo mein? They could have ordered the sesame noodles. Maybe it was the vampires. Maybe they were scheming to get a refund. Those schemy, schemy bloodsuckers. Frustrated, Fred tugged at the gate. It opened wide.

The instructions had said to push. He was sure of it. Fred was perplexed. What was going on? What if it was a sasquatch taking a break from the woods? That would explain a lot. They couldn't write though, at least nothing as complicated as the instructions. Fred raced through the possibilities in his mind as he hurried through the basement, brushing cobwebs out of his face. It was warm inside, but the chill remained deep in Fred's bones.

Fred pushed open the basement door at the top of the stairs. A swarm of moths fluttered into the light of his flashlight, their paper wings brushing lightly against his face. Mothman? wondered Fred. No, Mothman wouldn't tip. It didn't make sense. None at all.

The first hallway was long and dark. Fred struggled to correlate the inside layout of the building to the U-shape he had seen outside. He was always bad at that though. He got lost in every subway station he ever went in. He double checked the instructions. The lo mein still felt warm through the bag. It would all be okay, thought Fred. Probably not vampires, he reassured himself. Not vampires. No, not vampires. Please not vampires. Please. He quickened his pace, avoiding the stares of the pale faces in the portraits that lined the walls. Okay, maybe vampires. Maybe it's vampires.

Fred didn't want to become a vampire. He was cold enough as it was.

Up now. Another long hallway. Down. Up again. He was close now. Something howled outside. The newspapers said there were coyotes in the city now. Fred knew better. A mouse skittered by underfoot. Fred jumped. He hoped the museum would get back to him soon. He wondered if Unlivery had any policies regarding delivery to supernatural forces. Maybe he could advise them on it. That would be a nice gig. A snake slithered past now, chasing the mouse.

Witches! Fred realized. Must be witches! It would be okay. Fred could handle witches. A coven of hungry witches was no problem. No problem at all. Fred pushed through a set of swinging doors. At the end of the corridor was Apartment 322, a dim light casting shadows from behind the door. Witches. It's witches. Fred was nervous though. What if it was something worse? He tapped lightly at the door, his nervous fingers tapping gently at the door. Witches. It's witches and nothing more.

The old building creaked and moaned in the echoing silence. No one came to the door. Breathing deep to still the beating of his heart, Fred tapped again, some what louder than before. Silence reigned.

At last, a deep, murmuring voice sounded from within the apartment. "Sir," it said, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness..." It trailed off. Not witches then. The voice was too deep.

There was another loud creak and the apartment door swung open. Fred screamed.

An old man stood in the doorway, squinting into the darkness, looking straight through Fred. He looked tired and unkept. His nightgown was wrinkled. He reminded Fred of his grandfather. Fred felt bad for screaming. He lifted the brown bag slightly and tried to smile. "Sorry," he said. "I was just a little spooked. Here's your lo mein."

But the old man continued to peer into the darkness. He didn't seem to have heard the scream or Fred's apology. He must be deaf. And half-blind, too. "Lenore?" he whispered.

"Lenore?" said Fred, his voice rising. "No, it's Fred Lee. I have your order from Jade Garden. Sir? Your lo mein, sir."

The man turned swiftly back into the apartment, leaving the door open wide behind him. "Hello?" Fred said. "Sir! Your noodles, sir!"

He would have just left them at the door, but the sight of the old man puttering around moved something in Fred. He must be hungry. Fred wanted to make sure he got his noodles. He hoped that some day someone would make sure that he got his noodles when he was a crazy old man. Gingerly, Fred stepped into the apartment, coming at once into what must be the living room. A sputtering fire played on a small TV in the corner. Thick books were strewn about haphazardly. The old man was at the far side of the room, bathed in the moonlight that came streaming through a window. He continued to mutter to himself as he pried open the window.

Fred was relieved. Maybe there aren't things that go bump in the night. Maybe his aunt was right. He put the bag down on a small table and opened one of the boxes. Steam rose pleasantly off the noodles. If the old man couldn't see or hear, maybe he could still smell. Fred stepped out, quietly now. He didn't want to disturb the old man. He pulled the door shut behind him. He leaned against the wall in the hallway and listened for a while. He was a little disappointed that it wasn't witches. But at least it wasn't vampires. He felt calmer than he had in a long time. Too long.

He heard the scrape of a chair and then the distinctive slurp of Ms. Lin's lo mein being thoroughly enjoyed.

Fred realized how hungry he was. Too much frightful dreaming had worked up his appetite. He checked the time. Jade Garden would still be open if he hurried. He hurried. The building felt less scary now that he knew it was that harmless old man's home. It could use an exterminator though. Maybe two exterminators. Outside the courtyard, his bike was still there, as always.

When Fred neared Jade Garden, chilled to the bone once again, he was surprised to see how dark the storefront was. Only the A's in the sign above the door were lit. The windows were all boarded up. Fred was too shocked to even consider that the fairies could be involved.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a notification from Unlivery: "Business finished! Your last customer rated your delivery at 5 smiley faces! Thanks for all your hard work!"

At peace at last, Fred dissolved into the night, delivering no more.