Where I End

by Sophie White

The heavy blue bowl with wholemeal flour, ground oats, baking soda and salt rests beside the toaster. My hands are so practised, I’ve poured in soured milk and cream without conscious thought.

‘My name is Aoileann.’ The rarely used word feels unwieldy in my mouth. ‘Illin?’ She tries it out for herself. ‘No, Eeeeel-in,’ I correct her.

She doesn’t realise I want her uneasy, precarious in her own mind. Doubting herself and wary of this place. Needing me.

She needs me. She has to understand that she needs me.

Apparitions are scary but the real horror is to be found in people.