Friday the 13th, on an October no less and two sentences of sheer terror. Boo.
I can’t stand the love of my animals leaving me when they die, so I now have them stuffed at their happiest moments. Little Bosco, the pup, will always be gazing at me as if he was about to go for a walk.
The old saying ‘these walls have ears’ comforts me, in a way. If they screamed, they’d risk undoing my sewing work on their lips, and no-one wants that.
When we got our first colour television, my parents let me have a sleepover with my friends. A scream from the television woke us up at 3am but the woman on the screen kept us awake.
My brother, mother and father all saw the woman in the bathroom mirror yet none of us believed each other. I was the last one to see her terrified eyes, as the glass broke in four.
I’m the presence you feel in an empty room, your office, your hallway. You know I’m there, but you’ll never see me like I see you.
The next night the mirror fell from the bathroom wall. Each shard showed a pair of desperate wide-eyes, the same colour and shape as my own.