The Long Walk

The wet, garishly lit streets held a warmth and friendliness that, momentarily, relieved his sense of impending doom. Mordan, he knew, would be waiting for him, lurking in mortal guise, ready to pounce and sink his deadly talons into his soft flesh.

He watched the pale faces of the hurrying crowds, listened to their inconsequential chatter and the hiss of car tyres on the wet road; warm comforting sounds that helped to quell his rising fear.

The crowds were beginning to thin out it was time to go. Hunching his wiry shoulders beneath the thin raincoat and narrowing his eyes into sharp, alert slits he set out on the long walk to his headquarters.

Where, he wondered, would Mordan strike? Here, in the crowded street? Or would he wait until he, the tightly wound agent, passed into the lonely darkness of Potters Road?

The crowds, he noted, had entirely disappeared now; all safely behind their bolted doors he thought bitterly. With unfaltering step he sauntered into the deserted suburban street. Behind the sharp eyes and deceptively casual movements his heart hammered like a bass drum.

A cat, black, sleek and shiny-eyed, leapt from the shadow of a privet hedge; his heart did a peculiar little flip and nearly stopped. Despite his outward calm, the fear grew and his pace quickened. It took a conscious effort to slow himself down; he must not let that evil monster see that he was afraid.

He tried to whistle a casual tune, but his lips were dry and all he could manage was a nervous, tuneless, blowing of air.

Deliberately, he veered outwards until he was walking in the centre of the road and as far as he could get from the dark, menacing shadows of the pavements. Here at least he would have some warning of Mordan’s attack.

Only a few more yards to go. A dog growled softly and the hair prickled on the back of his neck. Like a blinding flash the thought exploded in his mind! The dog! Mordan’s devilish hound!

Despite himself his legs broke into a run, with practised ease he vaulted the low wall and dashed up the narrow pathway. His back slammed against the panelled door as he turned to face the darkness and his vile enemy. His fist rapped out the signal with frantic urgency.

The measured footsteps beyond the door seemed to take an eternity. Suddenly the door gave against his pressure and light, warm, safe, light flooded across his swiftly composed features.

“Hello,” said his mother, “Good film was it?”