Mary stared ahead as she quickened her pace. She fought back tears as she heard the footsteps behind her quicken to match her own. Why tonight?

She had walked this way every night for years. Every night, when the manager closed the bar, she and Elaine shared out the tips for the night and walked home together. Elaine lived just two streets from Mary, and they always reached Mary's house first. She had always felt safe.

Tonight, Elaine had called in sick. Mary had to walk home alone. Tonight, footsteps had followed her. She had heard them soon after leaving the bar, but she had been afraid to turn and look. At least two, she guessed, although she couldn't be sure.

The streets were deserted, and the stark winter trees of the park traced delicate patterns on the night sky ahead of her. The park was the quickest way home, but tonight she would go around.

Perhaps nothing would happen as long as she stayed in the street lights. She turned left, staying on the far side of the road from the park. Her breathing was shallow now. She forced a breath, shuddering, into her lungs as she realised her mistake.

If she had turned right she would have reached the all-night supermarket. They would have called the police for her. Mary heard the footsteps turn the corner behind her. Too late to go back now.

Blockman Lane! This way took her through Blockman Lane, that unlit space between factory buildings. She was trapped. She forced another deep breath, keeping her pace even. She would have to run through the Lane. Once through, she would be safe. The street beyond had a night-club that would still be open.

The footsteps followed, neither receding nor drawing closer. They knew about the Lane, she was sure. They didn't need to chase, just keep pace.

The shadows marking the entrance to Blockman Lane were ahead. The footsteps behind were quickening now, catching up. She stepped around the wall of the lane and -- ran. She could hear the steps behind her. They hadn't reached the lane yet, there was still time. Darkness enveloped her on all sides. Mary kept her eyes fixed on the rectangle of light, dead ahead, that marked the street beyond. Two hundred yards, maybe less.

Her leg struck something hard and she fell, a small cry breaking from her lips. Ignoring the pain in her knees and hands, she clambered to her feet.

"Careful, lady." The voice was barely a whisper.

Mary jumped, her shriek stuck in her throat. A figure was moving, a dark shadow in the darkness. It was rising, taking form in the dim remnant of light from the street ahead. A tramp.

"Help me," Mary said, her voice a hiss. "Someone is after me."

The tramp backed away. He seemed to blend into the darkness, to become just an outcrop of the plain-brick wall. "I don't want to be seen," he said.

"Well, well." Another voice, deep and resonant. "Look here, mate. She's waiting for us."

Mary turned, saw the outlines of two men at the far end of the alley. "Help me, damn you," she said. "You can't just stand by and let this happen. They're going to attack me."

The two men were approaching, unhurried and swaggering.

"I know," the tramp whispered, invisible in the shadows. "Seen it before. You'd better go."

The men were only yards away. Mary ran. They caught her easily.

"Now, girlie, you don't want to make this difficult."

Her arms were pulled behind her and held. One of the men was lifting her sweater. She screamed. A fist hit her below the ribs, taking her breath away.

"Keep it quiet, bitch."

The man in front of her stepped back, reaching down to her skirt.

Mary screwed her eyes shut as the lane was filled with light. She heard the man in front of her groan, then gurgle, then slump to the floor. The light died.

The second man still held her arms behind her. "What the hell..." he said.

Mary opened one eye to see flames. A pool of something lay on the alley floor, tiny fires dancing on its bubbling surface. Faint lights flickered on the brick wall ahead of her, illuminating snatches of graffiti. She felt hot.

No, she wasn't hot. The man holding her was hot. His grip relaxed and she broke free, staggering across the Lane to lean against the far wall, too frightened and confused to run.

Mary watched as the man ignited, shielding her eyes against the glare but unable to turn away. His skin glowed with a brilliant light, his hair and clothing flared into black flakes. Flame shot from his mouth, eyes and ears. His skin folded, bereft of internal support as the fire consumed him from within.

The light faded as the remains of the man collapsed to the floor to form another pool, its edges blending with the remnant of his friend. Mary backed away, towards the street, her head shaking, her mouth working, her eyes so wide they were hurting.

She saw the tramp then, moving towards the bubbling pools. He knelt and placed his hands into the mess. Mary watched, still walking backwards, as her two would-be assailants were absorbed through the fingers of the tramp's hands.

He stood and faced her, his eyes glowing red above his grey, unkempt beard.

"Told you," he said. "Seen it before, lots of times. That's why I wait here. To stop it."

Mary wanted to say 'thank you', but the words wouldn't come. What would she say? Who would believe her? She watched as the tramp stepped into the wall, his body somehow slipping between the bricks and blending with the mortar. His voice drifted to her, a whisper on the wind. "You go home now, lady."

Mary turned and ran.