Mirrors: Sparkling new stories from prize-winning authors. Wendy Cooling

for the mirror, Jamie might never have known, never begun to wonder. Jamie was not sure whether to bless or curse the mirror, but there was no doubting its effect.

      Nemesis did not seem at all bothered by the mirror. What Jamie noticed was this: when Nemesis looked in the mirror he didn’t see a parrot looking back at him. He didn’t see anything at all. Nemesis didn’t have a reflection.

      At first Jamie assumed that the mirror was no good, and he went storming back to the pet shop. ‘This mirror is defunct,’ he said. ‘It’s not a mirror. It’s a piece of glass.’ But the pet shop man looked in it and saw himself, and when Jamie took the trouble of peering in, he was there too.

      Jamie, who by this time was not only puzzled but worried, returned home, took the parrot into the bathroom and held him up in front of the big mirror above the wash basin. Jamie was there, holding up his arm, but there was no parrot. Jamie paled. He knew there was only one creature that had no reflection in a mirror, and that was a vampire.

      As for Nemesis himself, he turned away from the mirror and gazed at Jamie with his eyes that were now like black holes in the fabric of space. ‘I am your fwend,’ he said, quietly.

      Jamie was faced with the unpleasant observation that he was harbouring a vampire parrot – a vampire parrot with a speech impediment. Then he remembered his finger.

       It was when I noticed the tiny feathers on my finger that I became seriously concerned. The fluff that had first appeared around my bruise had now turned to feathers. Of course they were very small, but they were also unmistakeable. I couldn’t show Mum and Dad because I have hardly seen them since yesterday. I had to make my own lunch and supper. They seem to spend all their time up in the trees that have taken over our garden. The trees sprang up overnight, a miniature rain forest. Some of them are laden with exotic fruits that are eaten by the troops of monkeys that race along the highest branches, crashing amongst the dense leaves.

       As for Nemesis, I swear he is now grinning at me. When I went to sleep last night, I dreamed that he was talking to me in a really sweet, kind voice, so smooth and soft. I would wake, sweating, but he was always fast asleep in his cage…

      Outside the house, monkeys whooped and howled. Great birds sang and burbled amongst the dark branches, and occasionally a glimpse of yellow and black signalled the stealthy passing of the jaguar.

      At night the parrot’s eyes would snap open and Nemesis would stare across at Jamie as he slept. Then the parrot would begin his night whispers, in a soft, crooning voice. ‘Thoon you will be mine. Together we thall wule the world. Thoon you will be a pawott like your pawenth. There ith no ethcape, for I am Nature’th methenger and it ith time for her to weclaim the world. Humanth have methed it up and now jungle thall cover the earth and all the wagged wocks wunth more and there will be no humanth at all. Ha ha ha ha.’

      Jamie saw his parents one more time. They were sitting together on the branch of a tree at the edge of the spreading forest. Their clothes had gone, and their bodies were covered in glowing feathers. Dad cocked his head on one side and gazed at Jamie, as if he were trying to remember who he was. They made their way down from the tree and stepped on to what was left of the lawn, but they wouldn’t come any closer.

      ‘Mum? Dad?’ Jamie didn’t know what to say.

      His mother lifted one arm, as if she was inviting Jamie to join them. She clicked her tongue several times. Jamie’s father opened his mouth and cawed. The hair on his head suddenly rose up in a crest and he cawed again. Then they went back into the forest. Jamie returned to the house on his own. He wandered into the kitchen and opened another packet of sunflower seeds. He began cracking them and spitting out the shells. They crunched beneath his feet: thousands of them, in every room.

       I try not to listen to Nemesis but it is becoming more and more difficult. Part of the problem is that I am now covered from head to foot with feathers. I can no longer wear clothes. Every now and then I get this uncontrollable urge to stand on the arm of the sofa, furiously flapping my arms, wanting to jump. I keep trying to walk up walls and hang from the light fittings.

       I have tried all the usual vampire remedies but they don’t seem to work on parrots. Nemesis seems to be invincible and every hour I become more like him.

       What am I to do? The jungle has spread right the way down our street and across the park. I haven’t seen another human for days.

       Please help. You are my last hope. I cannot write any longer. It is too difficult to grip the pen with my thin claws. I am desperate. I looked in the mirror this morning and I wasn’t there. Who am I? What am I? What is going to happen to me? I am your fwend. I am your fwend. I am…

       Malorie Blackman WATCHING

      Have you ever wanted something so badly, so completely that it doesn’t just become part of you, you become part of it? Have you ever longed for something so much that you can’t think of anything else, can’t feel for anything else? Everything else just fades away into nothingness. Well, that’s the way it is with me and acting. I mean it. I want to act. I’m no good at anything else because I’ve never really concentrated on anything else. From the time I was seven or eight, whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was always the same. An actress. At first my family thought it was sweet. Now they don’t. I don’t think the woman in the mirror likes it either.

      But she doesn’t scare me any more. Well, hardly ever. Most of the time she just sits there, staring at me. Sometimes she speaks… but I can’t hear a word she’s saying. Her lips move either very slowly or in a frantic rush, like a face on a TV screen when someone’s messing about with the fast-forward or slow-mo buttons. She talks and talks at me – but I can’t hear a word. I just shake my head at her now, or turn away. I can’t understand what she’s trying to tell me and, to be honest, I don’t think I want to. I stopped trying to listen a long time ago. Sometimes tears trickle down her cheeks. Silent tears. But I don’t mind any more. I’m used to her now. It took a while, I must admit. I mean, the first time I saw her, I screamed blue murder. One moment I was sitting there in front of my dressing table, combing my hair and minding my own business, when an unexpected tangle sent the comb flicking out of my hand. I bent down to pick it up and when I straightened up, she