It’s strange having a ghost as a roommate.

         Like, for one, now I check twice every time I take a shower. Or use a bathroom (numbers one and two).  And I feel extra self-conscious when choosing between my dorky pajama bottoms with the hole in the thigh or the nerdy ones that show my old middle school love for that boy band member with the long hair or the elf prince, again, with the long hair and feminine features.

         Sometimes, I extra remember I have a ghost for a roommate.

         Like when I need to shower, for instance.

         I pop into the shower after a quick breakfast, already mentally planning the listicles I’m going to write up for my boss, then I hesitate a little while longer before dropping the towel. 

         I glance into my mirror’s reflection. Rubbing the steam off it. 

Wait a moment.

         Another moment.

         And before I know it, my reflection is spewing grave dirt from its mouth and has red eyes and devil horns. GOT YOU! She screams into my ear. Did I scare you?

         “G.G!” I shout, to a chorus of phantom giggling above me. “Please stop this apparition thing, it’s freaking me out.”

         I look above the shower door, the one that is missing some kinda seal around it because I always take a giant step into the Bering Strait every time I exit with all the leaking. 

         Yes? G.G. asks, innocently as can be. My, you look quite fiery this morning!

         I point to the door. “Please, get out.”

         Why? I’ve seen it all before. She laughs. On past tenants from all walks of life. How different can it be for you? 

         “Stop that.” Blushing even more furiously, I point to the door again. “OUT!”

         Fine. My reflection slowly morphs back to my regular human features. I kind of miss the red eyes though. They were giving me a vampire Lestat thing going on there. But don’t miss me too much.

         I smile as I shower, shaking my head at my troublesome roommate. Then the smile drops to one of horror.

         “I’m friends with a dead girl,” I say, lathering up the soap, watching it drip down my body. And probably to the Bering Strait. “My first real friend is a specter from the land of the dead. How’s about that?”