As she pulled the sheet away, light glinted off the mirror, striking Jane in the eye; her little hand shot up and rubbed at it. “That will not help.” Jane dropped her hand and looked right and left in the dim attic light. There was no one around; Ben had not snuck up on her. She stepped up to the glass; blue eyes looked back, her eyes. The mirror was old, the paint was peeling from its wooden frame and the glass held a yellow cast. It was almost dark in the attic and more silent than church. Jane didn’t know where the light had come from, or the voice. With a shiver, she picked up the sheet and covered the mirror.