"It can't be true, you said you will be there, with me, with my sorrows, my happiness, but it's grief that you give me now", Shiva cried looking at his late mother during her demise.

He turned the lock to the door and entered his home, as again lonely forever.

He went to the washroom. Suddenly, a drop of blood fell on him from nowhere. He was shocked. The blood touched his forehead and fell below. He looked down and saw something strange. The drop of blood flowed through the marble floor and defied gravity to rise up slowly along the walls. It reached the mirror and dissolved itself into it.

"What the ....!", exclaimed Shiva. He went close to the mirror and gave a glance to it. Nothing was there, but this was something scary which happened in front of his eyes. Suddenly, he felt something behind the washroom door. He opened the door and to his horrendous sight, fell hitting his head to the marble floor. It was again, himself which he saw in front of him. This time, it was more terrifying. He saw his own bloodshot eyes twitch uncomfortably, under his un-brushed, jet black hair. Bloody red crossed stitches climbed his crooked neck, under his corruptive and perpetual grin.

Shiva managed to stable himself up after this shocking dilemma. He stood and found nobody. His complete body was shivering. He turned to look himself in the mirror. 

As soon as he turned, strange events started taking place in his house. The lights went off. Shiva's brain had shut down. He was clammy and there was the glisten of a cold sweat. His eyes were as wide as if someone was coming to deliver the fatal blow. Yet what he saw, no-one else could see. On the spur of the moment, he saw someone holding a lit candle in the mirror. He turned to see, but saw no one. He turned back to view the mirror and to his horror, the lights turned on again and on the mirror it was written, in bold and bloody red, 'Sacrifice or donate'.

...