By the seventh day, I was used to the bodies. Even their white breasts and jutting tongues were free of flies and maggots. I scratched a pimple and hoped I turned out as nicely.

I lit the last candle and went into the night. The flame flinched and tried to creep behind my hand. But the wick hung; a chain around its foot.

I took a careless step down the road, and then another. I skipped down the hill and the last candle burned happier. But I felt a familiar tug at the back of my mind and knew he would not let me go. My legs stopped. They turned me around and marched me back up the hill.

The last candle was a stub and I was in the house once again. I placed the bodies of my sisters in their chairs around the dinner table and took the last place. A man walked into the room. He sneered at the candle and I begged it to burn brighter.

The candle died and I could hear the man’s footsteps.

‘I have been looking forward to you.’