Night-time Visitor

The street was so still and so quiet. Poppy couldn’t bear it. She leaned her forehead on the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes. One. Two. Three. When she opened her eyes it would be morning. Four. Five. Six. Open.

 

The same dark, night-time street lay before her. The moon still shone defiantly in the clear sky.

 

Poppy closed her eyes again. One. Two. Three. She knocked her head on the window. Four. Five. Knock, knock. Six. Seven. Eight. Knock, knock, knock. Nine. Knock. Ten. Knock. Poppy opened her eyes.

 

It was staring back at her calmly as if it had always been there. “Oh!” Poppy gasped. She had never seen one in real life before. Once, she’d seen them on TV, rooting through rubbish bins in the shadows, a sombre voice-over warning of their danger. It didn’t look dangerous now though.

It was sitting in the road, looking up at Poppy. Its auburn fur shone in the moonlight. Black velvety feet and bony legs, a soft, white chest leading up to a Santa-white beard. Long, shimmering whiskers below glassy, black eyes that seemed calm, yet watchful. A snout of auburn and white with a moist, leather like nose. Alert, pointy ears on top of its elegant head and a full, bushy, ginger tail curled around its body. It was beautiful. Poppy stared. She mirrored its stillness, staring into its eyes for what seemed like eternity. What was it doing there? Where had it come from? Why was it looking at her? Poppy didn’t know. 

 

Suddenly, the foxes’ left ear twitched. It was a split second of movement, but it made Poppy jump. Her heart fluttered nervously. Behind the fox, from the shadow of the bushes opposite, Poppy saw something begin to emerge. First, a black, sniffing snout, followed by some crumpled whiskers, topped with darting eyes and the same alert, pointy ears. The second fox stepped gingerly onto the pavement, its shoulders low, tip toeing carefully. It looked around suspiciously before cantering over to join fox number one. The second fox was less serene than the first and looked a little rough around the edges. His tail seemed to be missing a clump of fur and his paws were muddy. He sat down next to the first fox, panting, his tongue lolling lazily out of his mouth. He too looked at Poppy.

 

How strange. Poppy looked from one fox to the other. What on earth were they doing? And what was this? A flash of red, another bushy tail...no....two bushy tails peeking cheekily out of the neighbour’s garden. Four pointed ears, four mischievous eyes, two grubby snouts and muddy noses, a bundle of playful limbs and paws. They padded excitedly up to the two larger foxes. The most recent additions to the gathering seemed to be fighting like siblings, pushing and shoving mischievously. Fox Number One poked her snout between them and gently guided them apart. They stumbled on their clumsy feet and sat down either side of Fox Number One, nuzzling her sleek fur. They all sat quite still and looked. Looked at Poppy.

Poppy couldn’t quite believe it. No less than four foxes were sitting down there, in the street, in the middle of the night looking right up into her window and, seemingly, looking right at her. She stepped back from the glass and thought she saw...no....she did see all four foxes stretch their necks and squint their eyes. They were looking for her. She stepped back into view. For what seemed like an eternity they looked and she looked.

 

Suddenly, the little group on the street turned their heads simultaneously to their left. Poppy followed their gaze and was shocked for the fourth time that evening. Sitting at the end of Oakwood Avenue, just before the bend in the road, sat the most beautiful, magnificent creature Poppy had ever seen. Tall, elegant, the colour of burnt umber and deep crimson, he looked majestic. The moonlight glittered around him and shone through his fur like fire. His ears were stood straight, vigilantly aware of the slightest sounds. The white of his chest looked like freshly fallen snow and he was surrounded by an almost ethereal, wintery mist. The immense animal stood and turned slowly. He walked gracefully, his vast tail swaying gently behind him, and disappeared behind the bend in the road. Poppy gazed in wonder as he disappeared around the corner.

“What are you doing?”

Poppy almost screamed as she spun to look into the room. Rose was awake. “Rose!” she hissed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rose whined. She was always whining. She’d probably tell mum. She was always doing that too. “Shut up,” Poppy said nastily turning back to the window. The foxes were gone. She hadn’t even seen which way they’d gone. “You shouldn’t!” said Rose. Where had they gone? “I’m telling Mum!” Why were they there? “Poppy!” Where had they come from? “Poppy?”

“Shut up,” Poppy said again as she clambered back into her bed. “Go to sleep.” Rose turned over grumpily and Poppy lay staring at the ceiling and thinking about the foxes. When she eventually fell asleep she dreamed of fire and fallen snow.