In the twilight, you see them. Or you think you see them.
Shadows that move when you do, vanish when you look around.
It’s a phenomenon they say of walking in the bush at night.
Standing still you sense them. Behind you, beside you.
There’s the sense you are being scrutinised.
In the silence of the bush the tickling of fingers on the back of your neck, a nail running down your arm and an uncomfortable hot breath in your ear chill you to the core.
Just your imagination you tell yourself, your fears playing with you and so you carry on, the destination of home bearing on your mind as the lights of the town grow stronger.
Later you joke with your partner, relay other stories from walks through the bush, laugh it all off and sip on the evening wine glad the experience is over.
Later as you lay in bed reflecting on your experience you find yourself shivering as the hot breath again caresses your ear.