I moved into my first apartment. It was small, but it was mine, all mine. I was very excited. I was also thrilled because I had a date with my dream man coming up. He was someone I fantasized about and had wanted to attract for three years… finally! So many years trying to attract this star reporter and he didn’t give me a second look, because I was just the proofreader. But now, now I was his peer, he noticed me.

It was an intriguing assignment. The Boston police were re-examining a cold case of a homicide that happened ten years before. The case had been prominent back then and now there was renewed interest in it.

After the movers left I threw myself on the bed anticipating my hot date. I was wondering what to wear when a woman around my age just walked into the doorway. "Hey," I said, "what are you doing in my apartment? If you're looking for the movers they just left."

"No, I'm not with the movers," she said.

"Then why are you here?" I asked.

She looked at me sort of dumb-founded but didn't answer. Just then there was a knock at the door. I asked her to open the door since she was right there. She did. It was my editor and his assistant. Oddly, neither of them acknowledged her as they walked past which I thought was odd. The assistant, whose name was Will, Tony or something, turned back to look at the door with a befuddled look on his face.

I got up off the bed sort of embarrassed that they caught me resting and not researching. We all sat down at the dining room table, except for the girl. I told her. "Um, isn't there somewhere you need to be?"

She shook her head and said no.

Meanwhile my guests gave me a look like I was crazy. "This woman just showed up in my apartment. I 'm sorry. She doesn't seem to want to leave." I looked at her and tilted my head toward the door as an indicator for her to leave.

"Who are you talking to?"  My Editor asked.

She looked at me and said, "Boo!” It was then I realized I had a ghost.

My mind was rattled, but I spouted. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I got my tenses screwed up with the move. I meant there was a woman here who didn't want to leave.”

That seemed to pacify them. We started looking at various photos and old news stories regarding the murder I was researching.

We looked at an article with a photo of the murdered girl and the man they had accused of her murder. Before we could even discuss it the woman pointed to a dark-haired man in the photo and said, "That's him! That's the one who murdered me." It was then I noticed the murdered woman was my ghost.

But the murderer was not the accused. She was pointing to the byline photo of my dream man.

“Look on the bright side,” said my ghost roommate. “At least I saved you from a bummer date.”