The cold water pulsated from the one of the multi-settings on the showerhead. I took a deep breath and stepped inside under the icy streams. Although this was part of a daily ritual, the first encounter with the water was still a shock. However, it only took a few seconds to start feeling invigorated; something hot water has never done for me. I have always believed ice to be a better purger than fire. I allowed the events of the past week to unfold in my mind at a leisurely pace culminating in the funeral of my wife earlier in the day. After all, it's not every day that a man buries his wife of twenty years.

The priest did a wonderful job of praising Margaret, although I'm sure those lies must have broken at least one of the commandments. Margaret would have known which ones. I am a man of science while Margaret believed in the supernatural. She seemed to belong to another world; she didn't belong to this one. But that was Margaret, always taking about ghosts and such.

She was born in Ireland and moved here as a child. She brought with her a rich brogue, plenty of superstitious beliefs and a serious heart condition. I don't know what attracted me to her. I was a grad student and she was a waitress. Perhaps it was her love of life or her bubbly personality. After twenty years, bubbly gets more than a little annoying.

If Margaret had one saving grace, it was that she seemed to defy the ageing process. She still looked as beautiful twenty years after our wedding as she did before we were married. Of course the rest of my peers were extremely jealous of this fact as their wives were growing long in the tooth. They never stopped telling how lucky I was. Then again, my colleagues were fools.

I had often heard that a house is not a home without the sound of little feet running around. Well, our house must have been a home. We didn't have any children, not that Margaret didn't want a dozen or so, the little feet belonged to the Little Folk and to hear her talk we must have had an infestation.

A superstitious mind adds a whole new dimension to the art of nagging and Margaret was indeed an artist. No matter what the situation, she could find a complaint. "I'll not have you taking the Lord's name in vain." was her favourite and I would have gladly accepted that restriction. But when she bought a chair in case the King of the Little People happened by and forbade anyone else to sit there, I knew I was in trouble.

When dark green rings of grass appeared in my meticulous lawn, I called for an expert to help me get rid of the eyesores. Margaret explained that these were faerie rings and that bad luck would ensue if they were damaged. She sent the lawn expert away and threw in a stern lecture about my stupidity as well.

In the twenty years of our marriage there had been too many such incidents to list. Sometimes I grumbled, some times I laughed and other times I went to seek logical comfort from a certain graduate student. I suppose that if Margaret's beliefs had been limited to leprechauns, I could have tolerated her behaviour. It was her fear of spirits and deaths that finally pushed me over the edge.

As I have already said, Margaret was born with a congenital heart condition. Even though all the doctors told her that the condition was a mild one, she lived her life as though any strenuous activity would finish her off. In the end, though, she proved her doctors right. At forty one she took a serious of heart attacks. The doctors said they had been brought on by worrying.

Her life changed after the heart attack. Where she was too bubbly, she now became preoccupied with death. She nearly drove me crazy with her complaining I suggested that perhaps a divorce might be mutually beneficial. She, however, was a staunch Catholic and said that our marriage was "to death do us part." She also added the caveat that in all likelihood I probably wouldn't have to wait very long.

The banshee or the spectre of death had, by this time, become an obsession with Margaret. Legend states that to hear this spirit's mournful wail means that there will soon be a death in the family. If a person sees the banshee, however, then it is that person who will die. Margaret claimed to have heard the banshee on the eve of her parent's death. After her heart attack she constantly asked if I had heard a mournful wail. At times I felt like saying yes.

It wasn't until we heard a the squealing from a cat fight that I knew just how serious Margaret had become. It took me three hours to convince her that the noise had been a cat and several times I thought that I might lose her there and then. It was during these three hours that I devised a fool proof plan to scare Margaret to death.

The next day I took a drive to the mall and located a costume of the Grim Reaper. Despite it being the last week of summer, the mall was already gearing up for Halloween. The clerk smiled as I purchased the costume and remarked something about a party. I smiled and said I hoped the costume would be scary enough. I then drove to my lab.

I suppose I could have just put on the costume and jumped out at Margaret. In all probability it should have sufficed in killing her. That idea, however, seemed too proletarian. It would be lacking my usual panache. No, I had a better way.

The secret to making a hologram is to combine two laser beams of different colours into a single beam. The beam is then split, one part being directed onto the object, the other part onto a photographic plate. When the plate is developed and lit by a laser, a multi-coloured, three-dimensional image will appear.

It took me better part of the day but I manage to rig everything perfectly. The opening door would trigger a twenty second delay until the lights would turn off. Five seconds later a hologram of the reaper costume would appear in an ethereal green. After another twenty seconds the projector was programmed to shut off and stay off. There was no way Margaret heart could stand a face to face encounter with the banshee. It was a calculated gamble but I was confident no one would bother to examine the film in the projector.

I waited until I was out of town at a conference before I put the plan into effect. Since I was the only person with a key, there was no danger of anyone else entering my office. Even if they did, they would have laughed at my practical joke. I had left the key with Margaret.

It was the during the second day of the conference that I put my plan into action. A certain egotistical professor was schedule to make a long winded speech on a boring topic. I left the conference room and made a call to Margaret. I asked her to go to the lab and pick up some important papers. Since I planned on never seeing her again, I gladly put up with her complaining.

I sat with nervous anticipation throughout the afternoon. I ignored the speeches and daydreamed of my new life. Should I move to a new place? How long should I wait before I dated openly? I pondered these questions over as leisure.

An hour into the third presentation and I began to fear something went wrong. The cleaning staff had been at work for an hour. And while they had orders not to go into my lab, they should have noticed the open door and investigated. My secretary would have recognized the corpse and she would have been able to tell the police what hotel was hosting the conference.

I was never so glad to hear my name being paged.

The police were very kind. They even offered to send someone to give me a drive home. I took them up on their offer and two hours later a young officer expressed his condolences as he sped me back home. The entire investigation lasted less than a day.

I later learned that Margaret was found outside of my lab. She must have stumbled back outside before collapsing. The door would close and lock automatically. The police never bothered to check my lab. I was able to dispose of the holographic plate with drawing suspicion onto myself.

and the funeral director were very kind. I played the part of a grieving husband to the letter.

The only thing left for myself to do was to follow the burial ritual my wife had insisted on. She had observed this superstitious ritual after every funeral and had made me promise that I would follow the ritual when she died. I may have been a murderer, but I have never broken my word. The ritual was a series of things the family of the deceased were supposed to do to prevent the spirit from returning home instead of passing over to the other world.

Before leaving for the funeral. I had repainted the front door of the house. No doubt it looked strange, but our neighbours were fully aware of Margaret's idiosyncrasies. One even offered to help. Margaret had explained that the painting of the door would help confuse the spirit if it should happen by. In case the spirit still recognized the house, I was to pour salt in a line under the doors and windows and I was to nail a horseshoe to the front door. Margaret insisted that a spirit could not pass over iron or salt.

After the funeral I took a different route home, in case Margaret ghost tried to follow me. I remember becoming very angry about the whole thing after my father had died, but Margaret swore that it was the best for involved. Still I couldn't help thinking that I had forgotten something; a key part of the ritual.

I let the icy water for a few more moments, washing away the rest of the ghoulish memories, then turned the shower off and reached for my towel. It would take a little while for me to get used to living alone again; but that would be a small price to pay to rid myself of the shrew. The soft towel was a luxury I would be doing without until I unravelled the mysteries of fabric softener. But that was just another concession to being free.

I reached for my razor and stared into the mirror. Did a free man look different? The steam hid the answer. I gave the mirror a quick swipe with the towel then dropped it in horror as I realized that a cold shower doesn't cause a mirror to fog over.

That was what I had forgotten. As Margaret's face appeared inside of the mirror, I remembered the mirrors in the house were supposed to be covered until after the funeral was over.

Margaret was laughing at my mistake and shaking her finger in her usual manner.

Looking on from a purely scientific point of view, it was fascinating to see her emerge from the mirror and stand in front of me. She had brought along a friend along as well. I had to concede that the poorly made rubber mask decomposing in some landfill was a pale copy of the real thing.