My heart thudding in my chest, I tiptoed downstairs and slipped out through the back door, closing it carefully behind me. The moon had gone behind a cloud, so when I went round to the back of the barn, the silver trail had vanished, but there was still clear evidence that something had moved down the hill towards our farm buildings. The grass was flattened, as if a giant snail had slithered across it.

I waited for the moon to reappear so that I could check the flagged area behind the barn. A few moments later the cloud blew away and I saw something that really scared me. The silver trail gleamed in the moonlight and the direction it had taken was unmistakable. It avoided the pigpen and snaked round the other side of the barn in a wide arc to reach the far edge of the yard. Then it moved towards the house, ending directly under Alice’s window, where the old wooden hatch covered the steps that led down to the cellar.

A few generations back, the farmer who’d lived here used to brew ale which he’d supplied to the local farms and even a couple of inns. Because of that, the locals called our farm ‘Brewer’s Farm’ although we just called it ‘home’. The steps were there so that barrels could be taken in and out without having to go through the house.

The hatch was still in place covering the steps, a big rusty padlock holding its two halves in position, but there was a narrow gap between them, where the two edges of the wood didn’t quite meet. It was a gap no wider than my thumb, but the silver trail ended exactly there and I knew that whatever had slithered towards this point had somehow slipped through that tiny gap. Mother Malkin was back and she was wick, her body soft and pliable enough to slip through the narrowest of gaps.

She was already in the cellar.

We never used the cellar now but I remembered it well enough. It had a dirt floor and it was mostly full of old barrels. The walls of the house were thick and hollow, which meant that soon she could be anywhere inside the walls, anywhere in the house.

I glanced up and saw the flicker of a candle flame in the window of Alice’s room. She was still up. I went inside, and moments later I was standing outside her bedroom door. The trick was to tap just loud enough to let Alice know I was there without waking anybody else up. But as I held my knuckles close to the door ready to knock, I heard a sound from inside the room.

I could hear Alice’s voice. She seemed to be talking to someone.

I didn’t like what I was hearing but I tapped anyway. I waited a moment, but when Alice didn’t come to the door, I put my ear against it. Who could she be talking to in her room? I knew that Ellie and Jack were already in bed, and anyway I could only hear one voice and that was Alice’s. It seemed different, though. It reminded me of something I’d heard before. When I suddenly remembered what it was, I moved my ear away from the wood as if it had been burned and took a big step away from the door.

Her voice was rising and falling, just like Bony Lizzie’s had when she’d been standing above the pit, holding a small white thumb-bone in each hand.

Almost before I realized what I was doing, I seized the door handle, turned it and opened the door wide.

Alice, her mouth opening and closing, was chanting at the mirror. She was sitting on the edge of a straight-backed chair, staring over the top of a candle flame into the dressing-table mirror. I took a deep breath, then crept nearer so as to get a better look.

Being a County spring and after dark the room had a chill to it, but despite that there were big beads of sweat on Alice’s brow. Even as I watched, two came together and ran down into her left eye and then beyond it onto her cheek like a tear. She was staring into the mirror, her eyes very wide, but when I called her name she never even blinked.

I moved behind the chair and caught the reflection of the brass candlestick in the mirror, but to my horror the face in the mirror above the flame didn’t belong to Alice.

It was an old face, haggard and lined, with coarse grey and white hair falling like curtains across each gaunt cheek. It was the face of something that had spent a long time in the damp ground.

The eyes moved then, flicking to the left to meet my gaze. They were red points of fire. Although the face cracked into a smile, the eyes were burning with anger and hate.

There was no doubt. It was the face of Mother Malkin.

What was happening? Was Alice already possessed? Or was she somehow using the mirror to talk to Mother Malkin?

Without thinking, I seized the candlestick and swung its heavy base into the mirror, which exploded with a loud crack followed by a glittering, tinkling shower of falling glass. As the mirror shattered, Alice screamed, loud and shrill.

It was the worst screech you can possibly imagine. It was filled with torment and it reminded me of the noise a pig sometimes makes when it’s slaughtered. But I didn’t feel sorry for Alice, even though now she was crying and pulling at her hair, her eyes wild and filled with terror.

I was aware that the house was quickly filled with other sounds. The first was the cry of Ellie’s baby; the second was a man’s deep voice cursing and swearing; the third was big boots stamping down the stairs.

Jack burst furiously into the room. He took one look at the broken mirror, then stepped towards me and raised his fist. I suppose he must have thought it was all my fault, because Alice was still screaming, I was holding the candlestick, and there were small cuts on my knuckles caused by flying glass.

Just in time, Ellie came into the room. She had her baby cradled in her right arm and it was still crying fit to burst, but with her free hand she got a grip on Jack and pulled at him until he unclenched his fist and lowered his arm.

‘No, Jack,’ she pleaded. ‘What good will that do?’

‘I can’t believe you’ve done that,’ Jack said, glaring at me. ‘Do you know how old that mirror was? What do you think Dad will say now? How will he feel when he sees this?’

No wonder Jack was angry. It had been bad enough waking everybody up, but that dressing table had belonged to Dad’s mam. Now that Dad had given me the tinderbox, it was the last thing he owned that once belonged to his family.

Jack took two steps towards me. The candle hadn’t gone out when I’d broken the mirror but when he shouted again it began to flicker.

‘Why did you do it? What on earth’s got into you?’ he roared.

What could I say? So I just shrugged, then stared down at my boots.

‘What are you doing in this room anyway?’ Jack persisted.

I didn’t answer. Anything I said would only make it worse.

‘Stay in your own room from now on,’ Jack shouted. ‘I’ve a good mind to send the pair of you packing now.’

I glanced towards Alice, who was still sitting on the chair, her head in her hands. She’d stopped crying but her whole body was shaking.

When I looked back, Jack’s anger had given way to alarm. He was staring towards Ellie, who suddenly seemed to stagger. Before he could move, she lost her balance and fell back against the wall. Jack forgot about the mirror for a few moments while he fussed over Ellie.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ she said, all flustered. ‘I suddenly felt light-headed. Oh! Jack! Jack! I nearly dropped the baby!’

‘You didn’t and it’s safe. Don’t worry yourself. Here let me take her…’

Once he had the baby in his arms, Jack calmed down. ‘For now, just clear this mess up,’ he told me. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

Ellie walked across to the bed and put her hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Alice, you come downstairs for a bit while Tom tidies up,’ she said. ‘I’ll make us all a drink.’

Moments later they’d all gone down to the kitchen, leaving me to pick up the pieces of glass. After about ten minutes I went down there myself to get a brush and pan. They were sitting round the kitchen table sipping herb tea, the baby asleep in Ellie’s arms. They weren’t talking and nobody offered me a drink. Nobody even glanced in my direction.