Page 19 of My Blind Date is a Ghost

Is it possible that this was why Cora became a ghost, because her murder was never actually solved? Did her killer get away with it? Could that have anything to do with why she came back? There are still Hollands in Mystic Cove today, any many members of that family are werewolves. Could it have been one of them? Do werewolves have magic? Or could they have teamed up with a witch or witches to bring her back? Could it be that the Hollands, after all this time, are wanting justice for Jeremiah?

I let out a long exhale. It’s almost six o’clock; the library will be closing soon. I’ve been here for hours. I haven’t eaten since I was at The Book Coven this morning. There are so many unknowns, so many possibilities. I jot down a few thoughts, a few possible leads, make copies of the newspapers and records and call it a day.

CHAPTER 9

“Wow,” Dianna says, taking me in. “So, you’re the ghost who’s been haunting the book shop all these years.”

“That’s me,” I say, gesturing to myself a little awkwardly. Dianna Flowers is a short young woman who wears a lot of black and has a lot of piercings. She works in the shop part-time, though she usually spends her time doodling on her tablet device.

“So, now that you’re…umm…here, who is going to keep up with the dusting?” she asks me. I stare at her a little blankly, but then she laughs. “Just kidding. Seriously, though, it was pretty cool when I actually caught a glimpse of a floating feather duster or saw a book shelving itself.”

I shrug. “Well, I had to keep myself occupied. I was grateful to have died in a bookstore. That is, if one can ever be grateful for dying anywhere.”

“Better than a woodchipper,” Dianna says. I can’t help but grimace at that visual. “Sorry.” She goes a little red.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I know it must be difficult, trying to talk to someone who just yesterday you couldn’t see.”

“It puts things in perspective,” she says a little more seriously. “I just imagined you were, like, a friendly, happy ghost. Like, you wanted to be here and help out. Or you were a guardian spirit or something. I never imagined that you might be trapped.”

I nod slowly, wondering what she is getting at. How could anyone imagine that I was happy being trapped between worlds?

“I just mean, no one really knows what ghosts are and why they exist,” she goes on. “You said that most of the stuff written about ghosts in those books about ghosts and spirits are bunk, right? Well, you can correct all that. You can tell people what it’s really like to be a ghost.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. You are right that there are a lot of misconceptions out there about ghosts. But a lot of people put hope in those misconceptions too. They like to think their loved ones are nearby, that they can communicate with them.

“And they aren’t entirely wrong. I did enjoy getting to see my son grow up, see his family grow, watch his descendants through the ages. And I have protected the shop. I saved it from a fire and set of the alarm when hoodlums tried to break in.

“But for the most part, it was also hellish. It was so lonely. Imagine seeing your child grow up but never being able to hold him, talk to him, comfort him. I would have rather not existed at all than live that way. But I couldn’t even take my own life. Believe me, I tried many times.”

Her jaw drops at this, of the idea of a ghost being suicidal. I suppose it is a radical thought. But it’s true. If I couldn’t be fully alive, I would rather not exist at all.

“But humans aren’t going to want to know that,” I go on. “For the most part, people are comforted by the idea of ghosts. Ghosts give them hope, hope that life goes on. Hope in an afterlife. Hope that our loved ones are never really gone. I don’t want to be the person to take that hope from them.”

“Jeez,” Dianna says, running a hand through her short black hair. “That’s so…deep. So heavy.”

“Besides,” I say, straightening a pile of books on the counter that is already straight, “I can only speak for myself. Remember, I never met any other ghosts while I was a ghost. And I don’t even know why I was a ghost in the first place. Nor do I know how I came back to life.

“I really don’t want anyone except those closest to me to know who I really am. I don’t want people to start believing that their lost loved one might come back.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dianna says. “It might be hard for people to move on with their lives if they keep holding onto the idea that their dead loved one might come back.”

“Exactly,” I say.

The bell above the door to the shop rings and I look over, expecting to see my husband, Edward, walking in. I curse to myself for this. I’ve been doing it for over two hundred years. Why do I keep doing it? Is it for the same reason I felt called to return to this place no matter how much time had passed? Because that was what happened the day I died? Even though I’m now alive again will I feel compelled to carry on this ridiculous ritual until I die again?

Dianna’s fiancé, Parker, a zombie, walks in. When he sees me, a wide grin crosses his face. From behind his back, he pulls out a stunning bouquet of flowers—white roses and carnations with purple lilies, accented with baby’s breath and green leaves—and offers it to me.

“Oh, Parker, you shouldn’t have,” I say, accepting the flowers.

“Hey!” Dianna says, crossing her arms in a huff. Parker, ever so faintly, turns a little pink.

“I’ve gotten you flowers before,” he says to Dianna.

“It’s been a minute,” she mumbles as she answers the shop phone. Parker seems relieved by the distraction.

“Thank you,” I say to Parker. “They are beautiful.”

“I…uh. It seems weird that you know my name when we haven’t been properly introduced,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

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