I glance around the room, my heart thudding, but there’s nothing. No weird movements and no scary face. ‘The light must have chased it away.’

A low growl makes us both startle. Gandalf is staring fixedly at the wood stove, the fur on his back bristling. My voice sounds small and forced. ‘Hey, what is it, boy?’ Gandalf gives a slight twitch of his tail but doesn’t turn to face me.

There’s another face, in the stove door. As if someone’s trapped inside, looking out. It starts to disappear slowly, then vanishes all at once, like the imprint of a hand on glass. Gandalf whimpers as a new image appears: this one is an angry face, its mouth twisted in rage.

‘What is it? What’s there?’ Stig’s voice is urgent.

I stare at the stove, my mind racing. The faces appear in dark corners; the movement I saw before was in the deepest shadows. ‘Quick, we need more light! I think the darkness makes it easier for them to form.’

Stig rushes to the kitchen and lights several lamps. He returns and hands me one. ‘Why can’t I see them?’

‘I don’t know. I can only see them with my left eye. The one that’s blind.’

Stig frowns at me, unsure.

I glance into the dark corner of the kitchen and shiver. Yesterday the cabin felt empty without Mormor here. Now it’s thick with ghosts. How many faces are waiting to form in the shadows? Thoughts crowd my mind, making me feel dizzy. What do the ghosts want from us …? Can they touch us, or hurt us?

Stig tries the light switch again – nothing – then stares about like a trapped animal. He reaches for the curtain, even though it must be pitch black outside, and tugs it open. A horde of desperate faces stares in. Sad eyes widen in fear; mouths open and close. I scream and Gandalf barks frantically.

Stig drops the curtain. ‘What’s there?’

I cover my mouth with my hand. So many of them and so pitiful! They must have formed in the condensation, the same as the face in the mirror. I try to speak but the words are like stones in my mouth.

‘Martha, please. You’re scaring me.’

I push my fear to the pit of my belly. ‘Faces – dozens of them. They were piled up on one another, like, like a burial mound. Like in the drawing.’

Stig takes a box of candles from a drawer of the dresser. He hastily lights them and puts them all around the room. Before long, dozens of candles flicker around us. It looks like something from the set of a witchcraft movie.

He stops and catches his breath. ‘Are they gone now?’

I look around me, but everything seems normal. ‘Yes, I think so.’

A distant howl.

My fingernails dig into my palms.