Chronia Polla

a greek christmas, the family witch, and me.

Aikaterine Vlahos’ house was a tall skinny Victorian. It sat atop a narrow, pointy hill that made it seem even taller and skinnier. Her black Rolls Royce was parked outside in the street, at an impossible incline, like it was a used Honda.

The house wasn’t in some isolated hamlet. This was northern New Jersey, at the far end of a neighborhood with dozens…