Walking at Night

This is what I did at uni today. I had a philosophy lecture so naturally I had to write something.

Read (or not, whatever):

Tonight the moon is big and bright and yellow, hanging low in the sky. It’s fairly warm and that light illuminates the world at this dark hour. I’m walking down a street, passing slowly by parks and houses. The electric glow of the street lights is harsh compared to the moonlight. My right hand is a little cold. But my left hand is warm, my fingers entwined with those of another. It’s midnight, the witching hour. I can’t help but start to imagine all sorts of fairies and magical creatures coming to us, to greet us in the night, to play in my hair and tease us both as they flutter about. They don’t come. Of course they don’t come. I don’t really expect them, they’re just silly fantasies, but tonight’s the sort of night that could almost make me believe they might. The world stays quiet. The only sound is the occasional hoot of an owl, the chirp of crickets and our footsteps on the road. A shadow bounces across the street, too big for an owl.

“What was that?” I ask. Some internal voice asks me why I’m so nervous.

“I don’t know. Bird, maybe?” my companion replies. He gives a casual shrug.

I grip his fingers more tightly. An owl hoots. I catch myself before instinct has me looking around wildly for it.

I’ve barely begun to say, “where?” when he points with his left hand. In a tree to our right sits a little brown owl. Its eyes glow yellow like the moon. Surely something that small couldn’t have cast the shadow I saw. It hoots again, a perfect repetition of the last sound. I give a little sigh and loosen my grip. A sudden chill breeze slices through the warm, still air. I shiver.

“Are you cold?” He drops my hand. “You can wear my jacket.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I insist.

But he’s taken off the jacket already. I do feel better with it on. Better still when seconds later he takes my hand again. It’s strange how lonely I feel until he does. From the corner of my eye I see a flash of white-or-silver. I whip my head around to look but somehow I’m too slow. He doesn’t notice, so we keep walking. A moment later I see it again, white-or-silver moving impossibly fast. Was that a tail?

“Did you see that?” I whisper. I’m gripping his hand so tightly it must be hurting.

“No, I didn’t see anything. Are you okay?”

He’s so calm, so rational. There’s nothing there, just a little owl, just the yellow moon low in the sky.

“Of course, it was probably just a cat... or something.”

I breathe deeply and relax my grip again. We’re still walking, we haven’t stopped, ambling comfortably down the middle of the deserted road. Around us are houses, some tall, some small. Most of them have big, beautiful gardens and satellite dishes upon the roof, the white curves poking up through the trees. The forest of houses is buried in a forest of trees. Suddenly: clip clop, clip clop! The sound of hooves is unmistakable. As I look all around it fades into the distance. I realise I’ve stopped walking and dropped the hand of my companion.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, reaching out his hand, which I take. “Are you scared?”

“Did you hear a horse? I heard clip clops!”

“Are you sure? I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Oh,” I say.

He quickly adds, “I’m sure you’re just tired. Don’t worry.”

When he smiles and squeezes my hand, I smile back. I feel safe. At least I do, until again I hear hoof-beats, louder this time, and see another flash of white-or-silver through the trees. I’m sure I see a tail this time, it must be a tail. Then it’s gone and I find that I’ve stopped walking again, that I’m trembling and being watched with wary eyes by my worried friend.

“Did you see that? Did you hear it?”

“I didn’t see or hear anything. Look, we’ll be home in a minute. Can you stay calm until then? Stop freaking out?”

“But I’m sure I saw...” I sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just ‘cause it’s so late. Let’s go.”

I reach for his hand and take it yet again. Somehow it still seems comforting; I start to worry that perhaps next time it won’t. We turn another corner and I find that we’re suddenly in our street, just out of sight of the house we share with three others. The gardens are smaller down our street, the satellite dishes reduced to more old-fashioned antennae, but the trees still feel like a forest. Hoof-beats fill my ears again; determinedly, I continue walking. This time when I look it’s there, clearly there for me to see on my right, just for a split second but definitely there. It’s white-or-silver, with a tail and a mane. I blink and it’s gone again. I nearly leap out of my skin when an owl hoots. My companion squeezes my hand, holding my fingers tightly and safely. I try to smile but on the inside I’m terrified.

“Look, we’re home,” he says, reassuringly, even though we’re still four houses away.

As home draws nearer I find myself getting more and more nervous. Our house-mates have forgotten to leave the light on for us; with his left hand, my companion pulls his keys out of his pocket, preparing to open the door with only the yellow moonlight by which to see. We reach our house, the one in the left corner of the cul-de-sac, and step up onto the grass. A few paces and our feet find the stepping stones leading through the mini-forest that is our front garden. We let go of hands so that he can unlock the door with his right one, and once more the sound of hoof-beats - clip clop, clip clop - fills my ears. I turn away from the house and I look. And there it is, standing proudly on the neighbour’s lawn. It’s white-or-silver body is glowing almost gold in the light of tonight’s yellow moon. It’s almost a horse. Almost, except for that long, thin horn, glittering like starlight and radiating magic. I’m distracted from its beauty by the sound of the lock clicking open. My companion is waiting with the door ajar, beckoning for me to enter with him. Breathless with fear and excitement, I turn back to gaze once more upon the unicorn. It’s gone. I stare into the dark night, trying to find it. Where could it have gone? A cloud starts to pass over the low-hanging, yellow moon. The unicorn is definitely gone. There’s not even a sparkle left behind. With a sigh - I can’t decide if it’s relief or sadness - I turn away and go inside.

Okay, that's it.

So, thoughts? There's a few clichés in there which I decided were unavoidable (thanks Luke & Jess for trying to help). Umm... yeah. So obviously this was another attempt to improve my use of the first person. It's kind of a cute little piece I think. I was trying for suspenseful but I'm not sure I managed that.

To use another cliché, this one sourced straight from myspace: comments plz.

♥Nancy♫

P.S. As always it doesn't have a title. Suggestions?