There’s a man behind me.
I think he’s following me.
It’s Friday night, and I’m going to get a proper fish supper from the chippy near my friend’s house. I can’t believe how cold it is, walking along the back streets. It’s only a five minute walk.
But you know how it is when it’s getting dark, when it’s late.
I turn my head slightly, and he’s right there, behind me.
I keep walking, pretend to glance up at the buildings, so I can get a better look at him. He doesn’t make a sound. He’s got his hands in his pockets. He looks pretty determined.
I speed up a little. He’s getting closer behind me.
Oh God, what if he’s one of those serial killers?
He’s dressed like they always are, in those photo fits the police put out. And there’s been a murder recently, they can’t find the man who did it. No idea who it was.
I didn’t think murderers wore a uniform, but he looks just like one of those men. You know the way they look, with a beanie hat, bomber jacket, jeans. Pretty tall.
I start thinking of all the moves I can remember Lara Croft did in those movies. But I’m five foot two. It’s not like I’m going to stand much chance against a man like that.
I hurry across the street, heading for the traffic lights. I’ll have to stop. If he stops behind me, then I’ll know. He’s following me. I’ll have to run for the chippy.
Oh God… Is this what it’s like, right before they get you? Do all those women know, right before it happens, that their attacker is right behind them?
I’m standing at the traffic lights now, waiting for the signal to cross the road.
And he’s right there, right beside me. I can see the whiskers on his chin.
And then he walks across, ahead of me. He’s gone. He didn’t even see me.