Free Brilliant by Roddy Doyle

going.
    They were running through the gate, into Phoenix Park. Their parents would have gone mad if they’d seen Raymond and Gloria going into the park in the middle of the night. They’d have been grounded for weeks, or for months, forever. And again Gloria wondered.
    â€œWhy is the Dog letting us chase him?”
    No one answered.
    They kept running, up a steep path. It was darker now because there were trees on both sides of them, blocking the moon, and they were running away from the streetlights.
    Raymond hated it. He hated the fact that he was running straight into darkness, with even more darkness behind it, miles of darkness—Phoenix Park was one of the biggest parks in Europe. He was running away from the lights and traffic sounds and the other sounds of the city. He didn’t want to shout “Brilliant.” He didn’t want to be the first to do it.He was one of the oldest kids there. He’d had a quick look around and nearly all of the others looked smaller than him. He didn’t want them to know he was afraid of the dark. They’d laugh at him, and run past him, leave him alone at the edge of the darkness. He couldn’t let them know. But he knew why he was there. He recited it quietly as he breathed in and out. “Uncle Ben . . . Uncle Ben . . . Uncle Ben.” He ran into the dark.

    They had to be careful because the ground was rough and it was hard to see it clearly.
    â€œWhy are you chasing the Black Dog?” Gloria asked the girl who was running beside her.
    â€œMy mam,” said the girl.
    â€œOh,” said Gloria. “Is she depressed?”
    â€œYeah,” said the girl. “She’s down in the dumps, like. My auntie said something about getting the Black Dog off her back. And then I seen him.”
    â€œMe too,” said a boy. “My da stays in bed all day since his job got shut down.”
    The boy was panting. They were still running along the path, up a hill.
    â€œThe Black Dog blocks the bedroom door,” said the boy.
    â€œHave you seen him?” Gloria asked.
    â€œMy da?”
    â€œThe Black Dog.”
    â€œNo,” said the boy. “But my da has.”
    â€œI’m Gloria, by the way,” said Gloria.
    â€œPaddy,” said the boy.
    â€œI’m Suzie,” said the girl.
    They kept puffing up the hill.
    â€œWhere’s the Dog now, but?” Gloria asked.
    There was still no sign of him. They couldn’t hear him, either. All they could hear was the wind in the trees and their own breath.
    They all stopped running. They listened.
    Then they felt it again, the rush of cold wind. It went right past them, up close. Then it came back, on the other side. It pushed them—it seemed to—off the path, onto the high grass.
    Then they could see it, the darker shape in the darkness, going into the trees. They heard paws going through the grass—and panting. The panting that only dogs make. And they could see the Dog. He barked—he yapped—just before hedisappeared into the extra darkness of the trees. He barked like a normal dog, like a dog that liked to play and loved being chased.
    â€œCome on!” Raymond shouted.
    They started to run at the trees. Then they heard a voice.
    â€œBe careful!”
    â€œOh my God! Who said that?”
    â€œNone of us,” said Raymond. “It was an old man’s voice. Come on!”
    He noticed the owl as it flew over their heads. He’d never seen one before, except on TV. But he didn’t stop to look. He kept running. He made sure he was at the front.
    The owl landed on a branch high above the children. He settled beside another owl.
    â€œThey wouldn’t listen to me,” he said.
    â€œThat’s young people for you,” said the other owl. “You were like that yourself once.”
    â€œAh, lay off,” said the first owl.
    â€œAnyway,” said the second owl. “They have to work this out for