“Pisliskurja, réveillez-vous”, she heard his voice rasping in her ear, like the heavy damp tongue of a persistent cat. She awoke, her heart pounding, terror constricting her throat.

She sat up, desperate for some light in the small dark room. She carefully lit the candles, fumbling a little with the flint that had been left next to her bed. She felt better for the light, basking in the flickering glow of the candles.

Suddenly one of the candles wavered and then went out. It was followed closely by the second, and then the third as though someone was snuffing them between two closed fingers, one by one.

She gasped, the fear now wrapping around her like damp cloak, suffocating her and hindering her movements.

She stumbled past the mirror, turning briefly to look in it, then staring transfixed by the image that greeted her there. It was her own face, but hideously changed, the skin of her face hanging in rotting tatters, the eyes dead and dulled.

She almost shrieked in horror, but the sound caught in her throat and all that came out was a strangled moan. She buried her face in her hands in the hope that when she looked up again the apparition would be gone and she would be returned to normal.

“Mella… you cannot hide from me Mella… I am still here… come back and look at me”, the voice from behind the mirror croaked, the sound of her own voice which had not been heard for so long, but terrifyingly wrong.

She tentatively looked up and as she did the horrible creature surfaced from below the edge of the mirror, her mouth in a grimace showing rows of cracked and jagged teeth.

“Mella, you should not be afraid. You are the chosen one. You are the shebari and he is coming for you very soon. He is longing for you, you know he is, you can feel it thrumming through your body with every breath you take”.

The expression on the malformed face could have almost been one of desperate longing and sorrow, and Mella knew that the words it spoke were true. She could feel his presence with her now almost all of the time, lying coldly beside her in the dark when she tried to sleep, clinging to her throughout the day.

She shuddered, tears welling up in her eyes, whimpering softly in fear. The image seemed to like this and began to laugh, an awful scraping sound, the large grinning mouth a mockery of humour.

“Oh little Mella, little pisliskurja, do not cry, you are so very, very lucky”, the laughing began again, the mouth wide open so Mella could see into the hollow blackness that was inside.

She turned away from the mirror, clawing wretchedly at her face and now she truly was screaming, the sound reverberating over and over in her ears.