I was woken up in the middle of the night by an old lady.
She had a kindly face.
She stood at the end of my bed, smiling sweetly.
Her hair moved slowly around her head, like coloured ink in water.
She was so pale, and looked shocked.
She said she always tries to speak to the people who stay here, and it makes her angry when they don’t listen.
She told me her husband had never listened to her, until she threw herself into the sea.
Then she would come to him every night and just talk, and talk, and talk, until he shot himself.
She told me that the people who wouldn’t listen made her angry.
Their bones are hidden in the crawl space in the corner of the room.
-Hidden behind the mirror