The Case of the Orange

Flash Fiction by Robert McEvily



She'd come and go without warning and make an eerie impression. Not scary eerie exactly, more stylishly spooky. She seemed to be looking at you even when her head was turned. She was wild. Coolest ghost we ever knew.

Brett asked her out once and she actually responded. Brett told us she'd told him she'd been a private detective and that she'd go out with him on one condition: if and only if he'd help her crack the case of the orange. Naturally we'd asked what that meant - "the case of the orange." Brett told us he couldn't tell us. Naturally we'd begged. "No can do," Brett said.

We made up our own definition and were satisfied with its incorrect, fictional existence. Screw Brett. He was always a dick anyway.