Chapter 1

1

He came in the night. During lockdown. Wearing the darkness as a cloak.

It was the middle of autumn, though winter seemed in a hurry to arrive. The evenings brought with them an uncharacteristic chill that seemed to defy all efforts to prevent its entry into the house.

Sleep was welcome not only because it was night. Not only because it was the end of another day. And not only because it was the warmest place to be. But during the COVID-19 lockdown, sleep was a welcome relief from the boredom the daylight hours brought with them.

The furniture and ornaments Clay had bought. The magazines and books he had read. Even the rooms that contained them. All of them bored him to the point where he thought he might actually go crazy if he didn’t start getting out of the house.

And at night, he could.

New rules dictated that people could leave their homes on essential business only, which meant commuting to work, if that was still necessary, and going grocery shopping. There were police whose sole task was to check anyone and everyone they came across in a public space, and fines were a reality.

But at night, the patrols were fewer. Although, neighbours had become informers, and some prided themselves on turning in others. “Doing their duty,” they said. “Helping keep the community safe,” they explained. Though Clay couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t at least a little pleasure involved. The shadow of an Orwellian future? Nevertheless, it didn’t seem to deter the others he encountered on his nocturnal walks. Walking their dogs or jogging, everyone was the same. Head down as they passed by lest someone recognise them.

He didn’t go out every night. Tempting fate wasn’t something he thought was wise, but there were those nights when nothing seemed to ease the restless beast and he’d feel compelled to venture into the world beyond his front door.

He’d been doing it for weeks. Choosing different routes on each occasion; checking out the changes in the neighbourhood. Gardens had never looked so well kept. Lawns never so neatly mown. Some had taken the opportunity to take care of repairs and renovations, their front porches crowded with painting paraphernalia or power tools and bits of wood. The evidence not tidied away for the owner would be back out the following morning to pick up where they had left off.

There was, however, one night when the evening walk did not bring the relief and relaxation it usually did.

He’d ventured many blocks from home, to the area by the railway line where the only illumination on the moonless night came from the overhead streetlights. As he neared the underpass, snatches of hushed conversation reached his ears, causing his heart to beat a little faster. In the days of normalcy, he would use that underpass, and if he got there early enough, the evidence of nocturnal happenings abounded. The stench of stale urine would hit him just ahead of the sight of used condoms, the occasional discarded syringe, and even more rarely, spots of blood. There would be half-eaten boxes of KFC, or burger wrappers, cigarette butts, and scrunched-up tissues. Once there had been a used tampon, tossed aside just as the other things had been, without a care for the myriad commuters that would flood through the underpass during more reasonable hours.

Common sense dictated he cross the road, where he continued his walk. His heartbeat decreasing the further away from the train station he got.

He passed by an abandoned building, now a shadowy monstrosity in the night, but during the daylight hours, an eyesore made uglier by graffiti that was less than artistic. The glass in the windows had long since been shattered by bored teens and drunk lads who were handy with a rock. Great jagged fangs of dirty glass gave those with any imagination the idea that they were mouths, open and ready to devour.

As well they might be, for it was precisely at that point Clay shuddered. He paused to examine the building, his eyes roaming the shadows for danger until the sense he was being watched grew too overwhelming and he hurried off in the direction of the next corner.

The feeling he was no longer alone had his feet moving faster along the concrete footpath, past houses whose occupants were safely doing what they were supposed to—staying at home. He glanced over his shoulder, but whomever it was following him was careful to stay well away from the rings of light cast by the streetlights.

“Hello?” he called before inwardly groaning.

He hated it when people did that in movies. As if the attacker was going to strike up a conversation before attacking.

“Oh, hello. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to assail you at some point. Nothing too involved. Unless you struggle. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just take your beating and no more will be said about it. How’s that? Good? Now, as you were.”

Yes, he thought it was thatridiculous.