They come mostly at night, creeping about, testing windows, trying doors. Urban rats spilling out of their nests: He's alone, they whisper to each other; he's fair game. I see what they leave behind in the old stables; wrappers, food-scraps, bottles, needles. They see the run-down gardens, the run-down greenhouses, the rundown farmhouse and they think: He's all run-down, he'll be easy game.

They think I'm alone. Well, I was, till she came. Magda, her name is. That's all she's ever said: Magda. Must be foreign.

She goes out every night, comes back in the early hours. I watch out when she's not here. I stand looking down out of the bedroom window. When there's no moon, I can't see a thing, like looking into a black pit. But I know when there's somebody out there. Sometimes I catch a movement, sometimes hear a snigger or whisper: He's got plenty of room, we'll move in on him.

When Magda first came it was if she knew me. I think she had been watching me, watching from the jungle that my farm has become. She ate the food I gave her. Then she fell asleep, curled up on the couch, like a cat. She trusts me.

She sleeps here all the time now, in a room at the far end of the house. Magda likes her space: I've got plenty of space here.

Because I have to watch out at nights I need to take a nap on afternoons. It used to bother me before Magda came, but now it's OK. I trust Magda. I went up the other day, to my bedroom, which is near the bathroom. Magda was taking a bath. She had left the door wide open. As I neared my room she appeared in the open doorway. Her black hair hung to her waist. She was completely naked. I know she hadn't done that for me; she was just getting a towel or something. She was like a creature that had stepped out of a forest, that's just how she looked. Then she carried on. Didn't mind a bit.

Now, when she is getting ready to leave for the night, I have taken to watching her. She doesn't mind; she trusts me. I watch as she reddens her lips, darkens her eyes, ties back her black hair. I watch as she slips a long, slim blade into her belt. Those rats must know she carries a blade; Watch out for that one, they'd say; we'll wait till that one leaves. Well, I'll be watching out too, till Mada comes back.

I watch at my bedroom window. I hear a sudden sound, in the distance; like the cry of an animal in the forest. The sky is turning grey but below is like a black pit. Nothing moves. Then another sound; can't tell what it is, but it's not from outside. I go to the stairwell and pause, pause again on the stairs: I hear moaning and faint knocking. It comes from the far end of the house. From Magda's room.

I feel my way along the black, stone-flagged passage towards Magda's door. Blood rushes in my ears. I stop at her door and listen again; a low gurgling and a knocking. I push the door open. In the low light Magda is paused over a shuddering form, its heels knock against the floor. Wild-eyed, she glances over her shoulder, I see a gleam of steel. She returns to her prey. Pitiless as a cat.

Gently, I pull the door shut and creep back to my room. Magda trusts me.

©Ed jones 2008

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