I was sure this thirty-something-year-old worked on commission, and she wasn’t about to pass an opportunity to collect. The Armani black leather pants I wore, along with my red Manolo Blahnik high heels, were unmistakable to one who knew fashion. Then, her quick, brown eyes spotted me browsing in the lingerie aisle. While I was shopping earlier today, I noticed the customer service attendant had paid no attention to the patrons whose attire were far less than what she sported, which looked like a Ralph Lauren maroon silk blouse and a black ruffled skirt. I retrieved my cell from the side pocket and smiled, recalling my recent trip to a swanky department store. He thought maybe his little shindig would cheer me up, but frankly it was doing quite the opposite.Ī high-pitched scream issued from my purse that hung across my body. He knew when I was human, I was a flapper gal and had the time of my life. I wasn’t up for the roaring ‘twenties party Derek was orchestrating for me and me alone. I closed the window, pulled the blind down, and sighed.

The beautiful cone shade had a Tiffany-style stained art glass that shed a warm glow throughout the room. I draped the black garment bag over the back of a chair and flicked on the elegant floor lamp beside it. The cool breeze had a smoky, nutty aroma. The bottom edges of its sheer curtains lifted off the floor, causing the delicate fabric to ripple and bow in the center, creating a complete circle. The four-poster bed was lovely in the moonlight. I had loads of experiences in choosing the best apple in the orchard.

I mentally patted myself on the back, even though the truth of the matter was after my heinous death in the insane asylum, I’d been possessing soulless humans for damn near ninety years.

Ameerah by Rebekkah Ford