The glass moved from cold to hot in an instant.

Cassidy pulled his finger away, or tried to.

It didn't feel stuck, but he could not disengage from the glass. He realised it wasn't his finger that was fixed in place. It was his entire arm, locked from his shoulder downwards. The tip of his forefinger felt as if it were burning.

"Amy! Let me go!"

I can't.

Not yet.

He watched in horror as the storm around his hand swirled again. As it spun, it crept along his finger. Spiralling up. Soaking in. He could feel it invading his flesh. Eating its way in through the epidermis. He screamed, but the red flashed up to his mouth, pouring in and preventing any words from coming out. Next, his nose was filled. His ears. He could move and look around. He could, somehow, breathe. He could also feel the lipstick ants crawling up to his eyes.

He tried to cough the contents of his lungs back up, but there was suddenly nothing to cough up.

The smothering fluid vanished, reappearing back on the mirror but, instead of gripping his finger, it had slid down to join with its brethren around the intruder's hand. Cassidy was released and his arm dropped to his side. He fell back, tripping over the body and collapsing to his knees.

What was she doing? What the fuck was she doing?

He didn't have long to wait to find out.

As had happened to him, the man's hand, then arm, then body and torso were covered in crimson. Once it had entirely coated the corpse, it stopped moving. The body, in contrast, started to. Slowly, it slid towards the mirror.

No.

No...

No!

Not towards.

Into!

The palm sank into the glass. The wrist. The entire arm. There was no sound apart from that of the muted scraping across the carpet. Cassidy didn't want to watch, but how could he turn away? It was captivating in a bizarre way. Hypnotic, even. When the last of the man vanished into the glass, the liquid and any other traces of red were gone. Only the smudge remained to spoil the glass's cleanliness.

"Amy?"

He had to ask, though he thought he'd rather not know, what had happened. Where was his attacker? What had she done with him?

Had she... eaten him?

"Amy? Are you there? Are you OK?"

The mirror darkened briefly, a flash of shadow that was gone instantly, then it shimmered. The lipstick Cass was expecting erupted from the outer rim of the glass. It flew towards Cass, who instinctively held up his arms, but nothing touched him. He slowly lowered his arms, and was shocked to see nothing in the room, including himself, had a speck of red on it.

Had it been his imagi... No! There it was again, except this time, there was no explosion. The lipstick ants marched quickly in a diminishing spiral on the surface. Once they reached the middle, they accelerated until the last speck was gone.

The mirror shimmered again, and this time, the shimmering didn't stop immediately. Waves of interlaced layers of darkness and light overlapped each other, faster and faster, until they were almost strobing. Cass held up his hand to shade his eyes, whist still being able to watch what was happening.

Then, it stopped abruptly enough for Cassidy to feel as if he'd been physically hit by the swells. He rocked back on his heels, his attention momentarily taken from the mirror. When he looked back, something seemed to lurk inside the glass. It was like the after effect of a reflection that no longer had the original object to appear as, so was reflecting its memory instead of the object itself.

He stepped closer, sure he could make out... something?

Was it?

It was.

Amy!

Her face was no longer a rough drawing created out of a cosmetic crayon. This was clear. Complete. Fully realised.

And Cassidy suddenly remembered his dream.

"He... Hello," he stammered.

"Hello, Cass Cass," she said.

Yes, said. With words. With a voice. One he remembered from his youth, albeit somewhat older. One he remembered from his dream, albeit not full of fear and loathing.

"You're there! You're... you!"

"I am indeed," she said, smiling.

He saw why he'd had a crush on her when they were at school. It wasn't because she, as an older, pretty girl, was nice to him. It was that smile. It shone and, in its glow, he felt as if he did, too.

But enough of that. How was this possible?

"How are you here? Speaking? How come I can see you?"

He had an unpleasant thought. Was it because of what had just happened to the man? Had she taken strength from his destruction? Was it a demonic transfer of energy from corpse to spirit?

Stop being ridiculous! Amy might not be a ghost, but she wasn't a demon either. She'd helped him and, if she had taken strength from that, deserved it!

"I don't know," she said. "I feel... more!"

"Is it from whatever you've done with that man?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. I think it's because of your séance."

"Séance? But that caused you agony! I thought we'd killed you!"

"You can't kill what's already dead." Amy laughed, and the sound gave Cassidy goosebumps. Pleasurable ones. "I don't know. It's so difficult to explain. It's something to do with you wrenching me from here. The pain too. I've never felt anything like it, but something... broke."

"We broke you"

"You freed me."

Cass's smile matched Amy's. He supposed he'd have to tell his siblings they'd done some good with their stupid game. Shouldn't he? At some point? One day?

Perhaps.

Amy's face turned to look towards Bobby.

"Do you want to bring him here?"

"So you can... take him?"

"Yes.

"But what did you do with the burglar? Where is he now?"

"He's gone, now."

"You mean, you've..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. There were a few different options open to him, but none were favourable. Eaten him. Siphoned him into her. Fed him to the monsters in there with her. Cast him adrift, to float forever in Limbo.

"Let him move on."

He hadn't thought of that one.

"What do you mean?"

"He was alive, and now he's dead. He's moved on."

"Do you mean Heaven? Hell?"

"Why do you think there's only those two choices? Why can't there be infinite ones?"

Why indeed?

"Are there?"

"No. There's not even those two. There's just there and not there. And here, of course.

That wasn't an answer. It told him nothing about where his attacker had gone, or where Bobby might go. At least she hadn't done anything unsavoury herself. Maybe it was all Amy could tell him. She might be forbidden to pass knowledge on, or not actually know. It could be a case of that's just the way it is. Dwell or dissect all he wanted. The outcome wouldn't change.

"OK," he said.

Cassidy picked up Bobby and took him over to Amy. There were tears in her eyes as she told him to repeat what he'd done to the man. Lay the dog down and touch one paw to the glass. Then step away. He followed her instructions but couldn't bring himself to move too far away. He wanted to be near to his pet. There would be a minimal risk, he thought. Amy seemed to be fairly adept in dragging things into the mirror!

Was this how Alice felt when she travelled through the looking glass? She was alive when she passed over. Hopefully, it was as simple as stepping across the threshold, and not like Harry Potter's portkey teleporting.

"I'm going to do it now," Amy said. "I'll be quick."

"Will it hurt?"

"He won't feel a thing."

He's dead. How could he feel anything? Cass, briefly, noticed the stupidity in his question. He then remembered that Amy, also dead, had certainly felt pain, so maybe it wasn't such a daft question after all.

Cass nodded. Amy faded from view, and he saw his reflection. He looked tired. Drained. Sad. It mirrored, as mirrors did, how he was feeling exactly. He had often been one to hide his feelings behind a smile. It was often easier that way. It kept the peace. His smile was missing now, so there was nothing to disguise his melancholic exhaustion.

The ingesting of Bobby took only seconds. The dog's movement was swift and smooth, and he was gone before Cassidy could think to protest. Not that he would have done. Bobby could have been buried in the rear garden, but that would have meant there'd be a permanent monument to the night's horror. He would rather that was not the case. He wouldn't be able to forget it in a hurry, but he appreciated the opportunity to.

Amy reappeared suddenly, making him jump.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Knackered. Pissed off. Sad. How about you?"

"Apart from the knackered part, I'm pretty much the same."

"Shit, isn't it?" he said, rubbing his hand across his face in an attempt to pull away the fatigue.

"What?"

"Stuff. This. Just... yeah. Shit."

Amy nodded.

"Yeah, shit."

Cassidy sighed and crossed his arms. He didn't know what to do or say next. The house felt as if it knew Bobby was gone. It was colder. Emptier. There was a palpable void where once there'd been a puppy.

Actually, there was something he had to say. To ask. Something Amy had avoided previously. Something he, now, knew must be true.

"Did your dad kill you?"

https://youtu.be/tfpsFNjfWPQ