The Witness

Extract from final draft (subject to testing and reader feedback).

The old man saw the figure cross the road; small, lithe and almost animalistic, their shabby clothes worn without regard for the season. He could not make out whether they were man or woman, child or adult, but he guessed by the quick movements that whoever they were, they were young enough. The man was not usually timid, but something held him back; the unusual time of day, perhaps, or something else.

A small terrier dog trotted happily beside the old man and did not seem to notice the figure, her interest lying firmly within the new smells of the early morning. The small dog was now quite accustomed to these early morning strolls as once again, unable to sleep, the man sought to rid himself of the myriad nocturnal ruminations that disturbed his peace. It was still dark with no hint of the subdued glow of morning, and very cold, the coldest morning of the winter yet, the man guessed. In the little Dales village it was, he thought, particularly dark and unnaturally still as though the new day had somehow not yet emerged leaving this dead space in its place. He always took the same route; from the village centre down to the railway station and then the same way back to his home. There were plenty of better walks and it was a route he took only when he could not sleep, something about the unchanging nature of the railway pleased him and it had now become routine, like so much else in his life. He had noticed the figure from a little way off hunched under one of the few streetlights and he at first thought that they might have been benighted there and were waiting for the first train of the day. As he drew closer it was apparent that it was not a walker for there was no bright Gore-Tex and no rucksack that he could see. The figure appeared to have found a way of hiding within the bright glow of the light, each shadow seemed carefully arranged to mask the exact form and features and his instinctive concern for the stranger quickly turned to suspicion and fear.

From his safe distance he peered into the pool of light, searching for features that would identify the person and ally his fears. But the stranger remained hidden and the more he struggled to see the more the shadows curled their camouflage around. Despite this he could see that the stranger was occupied with something and whilst he could not say for certain he thought they might be using the streetlight to read by. The person was hunched and their body pulled together upon a single point that could only be a book or paper. Whatever it was and whatever they were doing it absorbed them completely and the man took a step closer.

He was sure that he had not made a sound, but something must have broken the silence. The figure froze for a second, then quickly turned to face the threat that approached. The man froze as the stranger saw him, caught as the sneaking voyeur lurking in the shadows he tried to speak but the words did not come. The stranger studied the man for a few seconds as though weighing up the worth of a potential prey, their head cocked to one side. Seized by fear the man was paralysed in the strangers glare, something about this person roused within him a sense of danger he could not recall ever before experiencing. His mouth hung open in a mute plea for mercy, certain that something terrible awaited him.

And then it was broken. The figure jumped up, slipping from the glow of the streetlight into a fading shadow that was quickly gone, absorbed into the pitch darkness of the winter morning. A few moments, barely a minute, maybe two, it was impossible to say. From the moment the man had seen the figure everything normal fractured and it was somehow impossible to grasp the whole. If he thought about how long he had been standing observing the stranger, he could not think of the person he had seen and if he thought of the person he could only fix upon small details, never the whole. He had seen the face, stared directly into it, but could not recount whether it was young or old, male or female. And then, from within the recesses of his mind he thought that he could see the face, perhaps just a glimpse, but always came the sickening dread and he would shake his head to rid his thoughts of what he knew to be false.

He unthinkingly walked to where the figure had sat beneath the street lamp, his mind still reeling from the peculiar encounter that even now, only a few seconds later, seemed to dwindle into unreality. Beneath the street lamp, lying on the pavement, dry and fresh, was a small square of folded paper. The old man paused, knowing that it must have belonged to the stranger who was already disintegrating in his memory as other familiar forms and faces filled the space in his mind. He looked around furtive, afraid and quite unsure as to whether to leave this artefact to the damp air or to retrieve it and forever nail this moment in his memory. The morning was perfectly still, no shadows, no figures watching him, just the cold dark air and yet he felt as though the whole world watched and waited with baited breath to see him act. As quickly as his years would allow, he picked up the small piece of paper. It was thick having been folded many times, and already it was absorbing the damp of the air. He did not open it, but thrust it deeply into his pocket and as quickly as he could he made his way back to the safety of his home, keeping his companion close and always looking back, certain the stranger would come to reclaim what was theirs.