I grew up in small village where the full moon floats above our heads every night. The elders sit on a wooden bench; While we, the children gather around them as they tell us folktales.

A particular night after a story, we were advised by the elders never to look into the mirror at midnight, because vengeful spirits usually roam at that time.

I wasn’t a very brave girl, so the thought of having spirits roaming around the village, made me have goosebumps all over my body.

That night, I pleaded to sleep next to my grandmother on the mat she had spread at the veranda of our clay house. I still hadn’t gotten over what the elders said to us.

I was scared. And I believed my grandmother will protect me. 5. So I laid next to her, with a thundering heart beat, as beads of sweat slowly formed on my high forehead. As I slept, my warm skinny thighs struck a small object on the mat.

The sudden coolness of the object woke me up. I looked down at the object and realised it was a broken mirror. The mirror I had previously used to look at the threaded hair my grandma made for me.

I tried to wake my grandma so she could get rid of the mirror, but she didn’t wake up. So, I braced myself and attempted to fling it away from the mat.

But as I held the mirror, I couldn’t stop myself from starring into it. It was like a force I couldn’t comprehend. From the full moon’s light, I saw my reflection in the mirror. And I turned the mirror around to survey the reflection of our serene compound.

Fortunately, from the mirror’s reflection, I saw nothing resembling a spirit roaming around. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief and laid my small head on my grandma’s body.

For some reason, I drew the mirror to my face again but what I saw next made my heart skip. Yes, I saw my face in the mirror.. but my head was suspended in thin air. The mirror failed to capture the body of my grandmother laying next to me: because she was the spirit.

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