I stood at the edge of the cliff, leaning on the fence post and peering down into the dark depths of the gully, choked with native forest - totara, kahikatea, ponga and karaka; I knew all the names of these trees yet had not visited this place for a long, long time. When I was younger - until about ten or so - I used to come there every other day to swing on the thick fleshy vines that hung down from the trees; it was a natural playground for me, filled with cheery birdsong and gigglish laughter. The memories of this place were all happy. Until the nightmare.
  With an unhappy sigh I placed my hands carefully between the spurs on the barbed fire fence, and pulled myself up and over, landing with a loud crackle of leaves that set my heart racing. panicked. Breathing deeply I walked along the ridge until the slopes began levelling out; but they were still very steep when I began climbing down, using the many large, moss covered boulders as resting places and handholds. A morpork hooted shrilly and as I jerked sideways, startled, I slipped on the damp leaflitter and tumbled down the slope. With a small cry I flung out my arms, flailing wildly, and a vine snapped taut around my elbow, almost pulling the arm out of its socket.
  Fear and relief mixed as one and not for the first time that night I wished I had never decided to come here again. But I knew that in order to face the nightmare I would have to go to the very place where it had began. Moonlight filtered down into the gully and from my precarious position I could see it dramatically striking a single huge boulder in the centre of the clearing. Still covered with drops of rain it sparkled faintly, and for a moment I forgot the fear which had kept me away, becoming enraptured by the magic of midnight.
  Something snapped in the darkness and I was instantly back in reality, swinging around to scrabble at the trunk of a fallen karaka and heaving myself up. My hand went through the old, soft bark and a weta scuttled out onto the back of my fingers; shrieking I flapped my arm wildly and heard a satisfying thump as the weta was thrown clear and hit another tree. With silent tears moving slowly down my face I crawled off the trunk and onto a sturdy track, carved by the passage of many hoofed feet. The remaining descent was uneventful, nevertheless by the time I reached the bottom I felt as though my legs would melt at the knees. My heart was stinging as fear slashed at me like the sharpest of knives.
  Stepping quietly, but not quietly enough for with every crackle of leaves the world appeared to shake, I walked up to the boulder, and laid my hand on it. This was the place. The time was now. The question remaining was whether I could do it. I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the nights sounds. It was unnervingly silent in the forest. Breathing in, I grabbed the triangular top of the boulder and pulled myself up onto its wet mossy back. And from there, I sat and remembered the nightmare.

  A black-haired child is running through the forest, laughing as she leaves her mother behind. She hears the calling but doesn’t listen, scampering down the mountainside like a young goat. And that’s what this place is called: Goatatopia, the Goat’s Kingdom. Boulders everywhere, and white shapes leaping from them, butting heads. Suddenly the white creatures leave, running quickly away. The little girl stops laughing and looks around. The place is familiar, of course, but she can not see anything wrong with it - it is all quiet. And cold.
  “Mum?” she calls. “Mum, I’m here, where are you?” But she hears nothing in reply, and something flickers in the corner of her eye. She turns around, and sees a black shape prancing behind the shadows of the forest, looking like a large dog. It sees her too, and vanishes. The girl stands still, and then climbs up onto a large boulder, and sits there hugging her knees. She lifts her head, and it’s standing right in front of her, far bigger than a normal dog, and yet not a wolf, either. It sits on its haunches, watching her.
  “Go away,” the girl says. “Go away!”
  You have no right to be here this place is not for you. It is you who must leave!
  “Go away!” she screams. “This is a dream! I’m going to wake up now.” She tries to close and then open her eyes but it doesn’t work. It is as if she’s trapped there, with the creature.
  A dream is real as life is real as fear is. You have no right to be here this place is not for you...
  “Mummy!” The girl tumbles off the boulder and begins running, but something makes her turn and she sees the wolf perched up on the boulder in her place. “Go away go away!”
  You have no right to be here. Run away.
  “No!”
  The shadow creature leaps off the boulder. RUN AWAY.
  “NO!”
  With a howl the creature springs at her, and she screams “MUM!” as she feels its claws digging into her shoulders, as it pushes her onto the ground... as she wakes up...

  I looked up. It was entirely dark now, the moonlight had vanished behind a sea of clouds. It was getting cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself, thankful that I’d dressed up warmly tonight. But I had something to do, something to say, and if I was going to face my fear then I would have to say it now.
  “Shadow Wolf,” I whispered. Then, lifting my head high, I called it out. “Shadow Wolf!” The name echoed and the world became absolutely silent, as though it were listening to me.
  “Shadow Wolf, you have haunted my dreams and stopped me from coming to a place I had always known as mine. Fear you, yes, I fear you. Each time I step into the darkness of a forest or an unlit barn I wonder if you are waiting for me. Sometimes the fear is too great and I turn back. A little fear can be useful, but fear of something out of a dream is pathetic. So if you want me to keep fearing you, I suggest you show yourself, because otherwise fear becomes hatred and I don’t back away from what I hate!”
  The last words came out of my mouth almost as a snarl, but the sound was not echoed but any furious demon-creature.
  “Can you hear me, Shadow Wolf? Or perhaps you do not exist to hear me. Are you just a figment of my imagination? Have five years of fear been all for nothing? Are you listening to me? Is there a Shadow Wolf?”
  Nothing. Nothing but a lone cry of a morpork, only now it seemed to be cheering me on with my speech. And I let myself smile for the first time since I walked out my front door that night.
  “You do not exist. There is no Shadow Wolf.” The last sentence was sweet on my tongue. “There is no Shadow Wolf!” I yelled, not caring who or what heard me, and the trees let it echo around the forest.
  There is no Shadow Wolf... no Shadow Wolf... no Shadow Wolf...
  I left the gully. The journey back up was easy, and after I climbed over the fence and stepped back onto the road, I smiled again and looked back at the forest. It was alive with the sound of crickets chittering, and I could hear the stream bubbling from deeper into the gully. The moon came out from behind the clouds and set the leaves sparkling with silver.
  The fear will return, whispered the pessimistic part of my mind. You know it will. Whenever a twig snaps in the darkness, whenever a branch falls in a dark forest, whenever something howls in the wind, that is when the fear will return.
  “But when that time comes,” I said, “When it comes I will know.”
  ...That there is no Shadow Wolf.

The End
*I did warn you*