All Things Shadow.

Now.

As the night settles.

The house falls quiet; radiator pipes stop their gossip, the cats are asleep and the only sound is the bubble of the air pipe from the fish-tank in the corner. Three goldfish turn and look through the glass of the aquarium. Nothing else moves.

Except a shadow by the door.

It makes no noise, and only the moonlight struggling in through the blinds betrays its presence. 

The fish watch it as it moves across the room to the foot of the stairs and only when an arm reaches out for balance do they turn and drift to their own, darkest corner.

There is no sound as the person slowly climbs the stairs, no creak of complaint from ancient wooden steps, no alarm is raised from the bannisters that witness the smooth movement upwards and only the one climbing can see that they are moving on bare feet. 

Two shoes left at the bottom bear witness.

On the landing the person stops and turns their face towards a small window high up. The moon – half hidden by cloud – briefly illuminates two eyes. 

They are blue. 

Then the person turns away and once more becomes shadow.

Is it a man? A woman? It is impossible to say but they move lightly and leave no trace of their passing.

Except a scent.

Just a hint.

Of sandalwood, or perhaps myrrh?

It could be after-shave. It could be perfume.

It lingers long after the shadow has passed.

A clock on the landing suddenly chimes.

Someone sleeping grunts and snores gently.

An owl outside hoots.

A door is softly opened, moonlight rushes across the floor and then the door is closed.