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The cooking and cleaning were not too much of a chore, but I have never got used to dealing with her incontinence, nor her sudden rages. The only time she achieves some sort of peace is when I play and sing to her. I still have some income from teaching the piano to young hopefuls from the village, and when I can get a babysitter I occasionally play in a folk band in the local pubs. But I am really marking time until Mam dies, by which time I will be on the shelf and sadly condemned to a future of spinsterhood, which is not the life I had mapped out for myself.***What I am going to relate will probably strain your credulity, and you may believe that it has all been a dream. Goodness knows, I have always loved the old Welsh folk tales but I am not in any way superstitious, unlike many of my forbears, and I know that my story sounds incredible, but I am utterly convinced that everything that has happened to me is as real as the paper I am writing on.It was a wild autumn evening two. Most of the other students would either be heading back to their rooms for the night as I was, or getting comfortable in the library for a study binge.Stepping into the building, I was assaulted with warmth. I had started leaving my jacket in my dorm room; with the short walks between buildings and the intense heat of the dormitory, I hadn't really needed it.Carefully opening the door, my heart pounded in my chest. It was exactly as I had left it: small bed, clothes strewn about, cramped desk packed with books. I wasn't sure why I felt surprised. It was the second week into the semester, and her ghost (if that's really what it was) had only appeared twice. Although, after what Ms. Burrow had told me, I half-expected to walk into a creepy poltergeist situation.I slung off my backpack and took off my already-sweaty shirt, a habit I had gotten into after learning the heat wouldn't be fixed any time soon. Looking around the room and taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I spoke.
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