I shirk my skin ere the mirror,

A shadow veering back upon me.

Its hand blooms before me with a quiver,

Bleeding through the shield betwixt us free.

My breath and lungs coil,

A violent stab of dread clawing my gut.

_“Save me,”_ The shadow whispers with turmoil,

Stepping over the threshold with a thud.

_“Nay,” _I sob and stumble backwards,

Clutching the Crucifix with reverence.

_“Begone! Hie!”_ I cry the words,

But the shadow summons no acceptance.

_“I miss you,”_ It weeps,

_“Come home with me.” _

It morphs to the form of a meagre sheep,

Braying as if to plea.

It lunges,

Dragging me to the mirror by its maw.

I claw the hard carpet and snipe sundry cusses,

Glancing back to witness a campaign of shadows with a stare red raw.

Me,

I realise.

They are me.