Small, shiny and, so it seemed, freshly polished shoes, just sat
there. I picked them up cautiously, with a single finger and thumb,
not really sure what I was holding.
“Be on your guard,” I heard Fiona shout from the living room,
“They may have changed their appearance.”
Leaving the shoes on the kitchen counter for a moment, I opened the
back door and stuck my head out into the fresh, early morning air.
The sky was still dark, a tiny sliver of something brighter struggled
to make itself felt over to the East.
“Christ!” I remember thinking, “Have we been at this all
night?”
I scowled at the shadows in mum and dad's back garden, unable to
decipher any detail at all, just blobs of darkness and darker still.
I briefly contemplated taking a walk round the bushes, but felt that
might be foolish without a weapon of some kind. So discretion won
the day. I returned to the kitchen, locked the door behind me,
collected the shows and returned to my wife.
