I wake up to mum’s smile, as I often do. It sways gently from side to side.

It starts out nice, like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. I reach out to hold her, like I used to, before. White bubbles ooze from her lips. Her eyes bulge like a shocked cartoon, red and sore and dying. Her jaw juts forwards as the rope slides higher, forcing her tongue between her teeth, somehow still smiling. Her body is still apart from the swaying, yet scratches snake from her chin to her neck as if she’s had a fight with Mrs Rampton’s cat.

I used to get scared. When she first visited, I cried for hours, couldn’t sleep for weeks. Now though, I know. She’s the source of my power. Her clenched fists reach out towards me and I take hold of them, prise her nails fro...

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