Horror Stories from Horrified - Volume One (2)

come to check on me.
No, it?s not him. I know it isn?t. I put on my dr essing gow n, and walk dow nstair s to
the kitchen, w her e I hear the kettle boiling.
Someone is sitting at the table, w ear ing my Mother s clothes. Her face, it is
indistinct and blur r y, like an out-of-focus polar oid. This is my Mum, or per haps it is
the idea of my Mum. The way she sits, w ith one elbow on the table to steady her self,
the other by her side, that is how Mum used to sit. She is small, and fr agile, but
contains the str ength and fur y of a steam engine if she feels it is r equir ed. I sit at
the table, and the thing that may or may not be Mum cocks its head to one side. It
speaks to me, w ith my Mother ?s voice.
?Sor r y, dear , I didn?t mean to wake you up. Only, I was w or r ied you hadn?t had
your tea.?
The Mum that isn?t, she cr adles a mug now betw een tw o hands that look like
silver smoke: on it, the cup r eads ?Happy Mother?s Day?in br ight yellow letter s, the
colour of daffodils. She, or it, waits for me to speak. I tr y, though I cannot tell if this
is r eal or not:
?Who ar e you, r eally? My Mum died last w eek. I was ther e. You ar en?t her. You
can?t be her.?
The thing that looks like Mum waves a foggy hand in the air , sear ching for a w or d
on the tip of its tongue. It finds nothing and w r aps the hand back ar ound the yellow
mug.
?Well, you see, it?s all r ather complicated dear. In fact, I?m not entir ely sur e how
it all w or ks myself.?
?Well, you can?t be her. Whatever you ar e, you need to stop this. It?s not making
things better , it?s making it all much, much har der.? I clench my fists as I say this,
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