From MY LIFE WITH BELLE by Judith Ravenscroft

On a morning walk I paused at the top of the steps leading down to the canal to take in the view. It was the darkest time of the year. Trees and tangled undergrowth, the slick of water, all continued bleak. I walked along the towpath to the next bridge, crossed the canal, and returned on the opposite side. As I reached the foot of the steep path that led back up to the road, a black-clad figure emerged from the gloom and bore down on me, pressing forward like the masthead of a noble ship. His face was blank – skin and bones, empty of personality – and he had a doomlike air. But then, as he passed, this apparition looked searchingly at me, seeking and holding my gaze.