Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, hearing the dog bark somewhere
in the house.
“That’s Apollo,” Mei said.
“But—it—he walked through walls.”
Mei shrugged. “Well, sure. He’s dead like you.”
“What?”
“Quick one you’ve got there,” that crackly voice said, and Wallace turned
his head toward the fireplace. He yelped at the sight of an old man peering
around the side of the high-backed chair. He looked ancient, his dark brown
skin heavily wrinkled. He grinned, his strong teeth catching the firelight. His
eyebrows were large and bushy, his white Afro sitting on his head like a
wispy cloud. He smacked his lips as he chuckled again. “Good on you, Mei.
Knew you could do it.”
Mei blushed, shuffling her feet. “Thanks. Had a little trouble there at the
beginning, but I got it all sorted out.” Wallace barely heard her as he
continued to mention sexually aggressive ghost dogs and old men appearing
out of nowhere. “I think.”
The man pushed himself up from the chair. He was short and slightly
hunched. If he cleared five feet, Wallace would be surprised. He wore
flannel pajamas and an old pair of slippers. A cane leaned against the side of
the chair. The old man grabbed it and shuffled forward. He stopped next to
Mei, squinting down at Wallace on the floor. He tapped the end of the cane
against Wallace’s ankle. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”
Wallace didn’t want to know what he saw. He should have never
followed Mei into the tea shop.
The man said, “Kinda squirrely, ain’t ya?” He tapped his cane against
Wallace again.
Wallace batted it away. “Would you stop that?!”
The man didn’t stop that. In fact, he did it once more. “Trying to make a
point.”
“What are you—” And then Wallace knew. This had to be Hugo, the man
Mei brought him to see. The man who wasn’t God, but something she’d
called a ferryman. Wallace didn’t know what he was expecting; perhaps a
man in white robes and a long flowing beard, surrounded by blazing light, a
wooden staff instead of a cane. This man looked at least a thousand years
old. He had a presence about him, something Wallace couldn’t quite place. It