[The Black Man;xo]

The Black Man came one New Year's Eve at my grandparent's house (I think it was the Millenium). Me and a few of my cousins sat in the tiny hallway by the back door. The back door was one of those panelled with frosted glass.And the story began. The character known only as 'Black Man'. I imagined him to be either a black-painted minstrel with white lips and black, shaggy hair under his hat, or maybe he looked like the chimney sweep covered in soot from my WaterBabies books (Both scared me when I was young!)Whichever it was, he was a man that was black from head to toe, and lived at the bottom of my grandparent's garden, where my grandad had his 'secret garden', with it's veggie patch and chicken shed. Sometimes, the black man would sneak up to the house and look through the windows or listen at the door.Just as the story finished, we heard the approaching footsteps of the Black Man coming down the path, and soon his shadowy figure came into view, blurred through the frosted glass. He was getting closer. When a few steps away, he turned on his torch.We didn't wait to see him after that!To this day I swear he was there, coming closer to hear his story told. It wasn't my imagination. My own creation had manifested into reality!Was it an uncle playing tricks? I don't think so.I think it really was the Black Man.Maybe he wasn't the terrible, scary monster he appeared as in my imagination? Maybe he just needed a friend!Whatever it was, I wish I had waited for him to reach the door, seen his face, ended my own story.I don't know if my cousins remember the story, but it has never come up again. And I will never find the Black Man now.My grandparents have moved from that house now. So now I can never meet him. I hope whoever lives there now is a nice family that keeps his garden tidy for him, and tells his story to visitors.
Love to The Black Man..
Peace;xo