I loved Alba with such ferocity, I sometimes kissed her until her eyes puckered with pain. She ruled us with her smiles, her chatter, her endless sing-song gibberish, and her wonder at everything. Teaching her words, feelings, colours, animals, it was all a joy. What a joy she is. Such joy. But she got bored quickly, had a tempestuous scream, and when she did not get what she wanted, she was like a fury, a creature with eyes that spat fire. Perhaps I was afraid of who she would become, that her strength would outstrip mine. I feared that she was draining the life out of me, that I would become insignificant. That she would be all that Omar wanted and needed.

I was racked with confusion. Sleep deprivation was becoming a form of torture; I craved sleep more than anything else. A good night’s sleep seemed so impossible. Surely not all mothers suffered this?

One night, I dreamt of a pontianak, the vampiric ghost of a woman who had died in childbirth. Malaysians have a profound belief in the spirit world and in the spaces that inhabit the visible and invisible worlds. There are many names for many kinds of ghosts but the pontianak was the most feared of all. I had never seen one, but I sometimes felt the presence of entities in my father’s house. Gasing Hill was rumoured to harbour ghosts, and some nights, I would feel a presence in the hallway between my room and my parents’ room, as if I was being watched.

Omar was away on a business trip, his first to Sudan, and I was alone with Alba in the apartment. She had been testy from teething pains and I had soothed her sore gums with ointment until she stopped crying. I fell into a troubled sleep.

She came to my door, this long-haired creature with blood-red eyes. There she was, a figure in white, floating above the ground, face contorted with evil. I heard a screech, and then a gust of wind as she tried to come in through the front door. I slammed the door on her arm as her fingers reached for me, greying with mottled flesh and talons, I pressed against it with all my might, but the door burst open again and again. She wanted my child, and I fought this creature like a wild thing, clawing at her with my arms and legs. I could see into her eyes, the blackness of her soul, and the whisper of a profound sadness. Then I sat bolt upright in bed, choking with terror. Alba was in her cot, fast asleep, but the window, which I had closed and locked, was wide open.