Free Darkness Be My Friend by John Marsden Page A

cat down the street towards the dark spot. I felt that this walk changed me too. It wasn't quite as crass as me saying to the enemy, "I'm back," but it was something like that. Perhaps I was saying to myself, "I'm back," or "I'm functioning again, I'm showing some guts and determination again." Whatever. I do know that my senses were very alert. I was scanning the street like I had radar behind my eyes; my ears felt super-sensitive. I could feel each little soft touch of the cool night on my face.
    And because I was so hyped up, as I got halfway along the stretch of footpath something made me pause. It was a faint flutter against my skin. Just the slightest movement of air. I hesitated, then stopped. Opposite me Ursula did the same. That was the agreement, that if one person stopped, then the other would too, immediately. I felt a bit silly, thinking it was probably nothing, a false alarm, and to stop like this so early in our walk would have them thinking I was scared.
    But I still just stood there, listening, quivering with tension, trying to pick up a signal, trying to decide if I was imagining things.
    And I heard a distinct crunch of a footstep on gravel, close by, to my left.
    There wasn't meant to be a footstep there.
    Something shrank inside my stomach, something curled up to a little black ball in there, something shrivelled and died. It affected me so much I couldn't move. The strength I'd been feeling moments earlier, the rebirth of courage, if that's what it was, perished like a prune. About a metre in front of me was a letterbox in the shape of a rabbit; next to that was what looked like a set of steps, maybe three or four. From where I stood my view was blocked by a small thick ugly conifer, not much bigger than me but enough to hide whoever was there. It seemed like it'd be one of those bare frontyards with nothing much but grass, and concrete paths. I couldn't be sure of that: it was just an impression I got.

    A second later a man came down the steps. He was walking quickly and confidently, but lightly. He didn't look right or left, which was lucky for me. He went along the footpath about twenty-five metres to a parked Volvo station wagon. He must have been fairly close to Lee and Tim at that point, but I wasn't sure how close because I couldn't see them at all. The man was wearing army trousers, with a plain white T-shirt and a black jacket. His feet were bare. He used a key to open the boot of the car and he took out a small brown briefcase. I was watching everything, seeing everything vividly, but all this time I still hadn't been able to move. The man locked the boot again and began to turn to come back. Now I knew I should have moved when I had the chance. My skin began to prickle all over, every inch of it. It was the weirdest feeling. Even my scalp, under my hair, was prickling. I knew my face was burning red even though, of course, I couldn't see it myself.
    And I still couldn't move.
    The man was walking straight towards me. I'd forgotten about Lee, forgotten about the Kiwis. The world had shrunk to him and me, the man and me. He was walking lightly still, on his way to do some work perhaps, even at this time of night.

    I did move one part of me then. My eyes. I moved my eyes. Because somewhere to my right I sensed a flicker of activity. Just a flicker. But my eyes went to it. It was Ursula silently stealthily crossing the road. She was moving with long strides. It was like watching a dragonfly darting from one lilypad to another.
    A sharp gleam flashed from her hand. It was a knife, catching the reflection of the streetlight.
    Who knows what might have happened? When you stand still, utterly still and silent, people can walk right past you and not notice you. Even animals can. I used to trick our old dog, Millie, like that.
    "Utterly still and utterly silent," I was telling myself. "That's your only chance. Not a move. Still and silent."
    I screamed.
    Now, thinking about it, writing about it, I can