I'm not scared. Heck no. It's natural for someone to be following me down a dark alley. Alleyways are for walking in, right?

Anyway it's not so dark here. There's a full moon that washes the garbage bins in an eerie glow. If I swing around really fast I'll catch the stalker off guard and get a full description - right down to his nose rings, facial tattoos and assault weapons.

But what am I saying? That's not some sicko stalker behind me. It's probably someone's granny heading home from the market with a jam roll and tea bags and hardly any nose rings. An old lady who, er…just happens to be a power walker and quite a heavy breather.

Maybe I should step off the kerb and let her pass. What have I got to lose? Nothing except MY ENTIRE REPUTATION. I mean, what if the heavy breathing, power walking old lady realises I'm spooked? Word could get out that Stella Starkle, super star, was totally terrorised by a tea lady. Wouldn't the local paper love that!

STELLA STARKLE EXPOSED

Reliable sources revealed today that Stella Starkle-multi-talented Rundle Mall busker and Living Legend--is actually a major wimp. A wuss. A cream puff.

Sweat dribbles down my cheek. I'll admit it. That heavy thud bouncing off the bricks doesn't sound much like a little old lady with teabags. It sounds more like an escaped loony with bags of mass destruction. I step up my pace. I'm not exactly running but I am walking very, very fast.

Thud…thud…thud.

My heart knocks at my chest like it wants to escape.

If you want to know the truth, this is all my fault. This morning I begged Mum, BEGGED her to let me walk home on my own.

"Mum, are you paying attention - I'm 13 years old!" My voice was only slightly raised. Well, a bit more than slightly. Okay, I was yelling across the table. But that's the only way to get through to Planet Mum.

"Please, don't pick me up from the mall today."

It's embarrassing when your mother collects you right there in front of everyone. All the other kids get to walk home on their own, or ride their bikes or glide along on their skateboard looking totally coo-ell.

Mum peeled the last potato and placed it tenderly on the chopping block.

"I promise I'll come home straight after my act." I grinned weakly. "Even the Strangler couldn't keep me tied up tonight." It was a lame joke and Mum didn't smile. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Mum smile since she got dumped from the circus. I guess she's missing the sawdust and the stench of elephant dung.

She smoothed out the empty potato bag as if she was ironing it with her fingers. "Read my lips, Stella Starkle," she said. (Her volume level made lip reading totally unnecessary.) "At six o'clock tonight I will be waiting outside Hungry Jack's. At six-oh-five you'll be there too or …" she leaned over and I got a whiff of soggy cornflake, "…or you will never busk alone in the mall again."

Whoa! I thought. Someone get the breath freshener.

Speaking of breath, I'm running out. Fast. My lungs are on fire and the rest of me seems to be made out of something you could stuff mattresses with. I try swinging my arms like those power walkers on TV. I probably look as stupid as they do. My shadow self, tall, skinny and dark, swings its arms alongside me - over the bricks and across the locked doors of warehouses. It has a humped back from the sports bag slung over my shoulder.

Hang on. Wait. Am I seeing things? I swivel my neck like a sideshow clown and squint at the shadow sliding across the bricks behind me…at the spiked hair, at the hooked nose, at the…oh jeez…at the shadow rope dangling from thick shadow fingers. My heart sinks like a stone. That hair, that nose, that rope could only belong to …

the Strangler.

"Stop!" The voice is breathless, gruff.

I'm in serious trouble. Serious with a capital S-E-R-I-O-U-S. My life as a super star somersaults before my eyes.

For one crazy minute I think about surrendering. "What's the point of running?" says my brain. "The Strangler will get you in the end."

But my legs have other ideas. Before I know it, I'm charging down the footpath like a ten-speeder on rocket fuel.

I glance behind me. The Strangler is hot on my tail. I hear a shout but right now I don't feel like stopping for a chat.

I take a left turn and duck between a couple of rusty Holdens resting on bricks. Footsteps approach and pause. My insides give a lurch. In some strange way, I'm reminded of those scary games of hide-and-seek Mum and I used to play in the dark. I'd hear her coming and curl up into a tiny ball. Then she'd pounce like a lion and I'd scream my head off.

Right now screaming is not my best option. There's a rustle of clothes and I catch a glimpse of black jeans as the Strangler shambles past.

Whew! My heart slows down to a gallop.

You know something? This would never have happened if I'd met Mum like I promised. I tried to leave the mall straight after my act. Really.

I had been heading off to Hungry Jack's when Liam LaGrange nudged my elbow.

"Hey Stella, I want to show you a trick."

"Not interested."

People have been trying to show me tricks ever since I came to town. They want to join my act. It's so-o boring.

I gave Liam my best get-lost look but he took no notice. Instead he pulled out a bunch of rubber chickens and tossed them high into the air.

A few people stopped to watch.

The trouble with Liam is, well… he's got a great act. He can catch spinning plates on his fingertips and juggle swords with one hand tied behind his back.

"Come on, Stella," urged Liam. "The Council won't give out any more busking licences. You're my only chance to get a piece of the action."

The fact is, performing beside Liam would be like, like … an ant playing basketball with the Adelaide Thunderbirds. I mean no one would even notice my amazing back flips from a standing start if Liam was twirling firesticks right beside me. It would be the end of my super star career just when it's kicking off.

Speaking about the end of my career … there's an urgent sound of footsteps behind me and they're heading back this way. Sheesh! The Strangler's on to me. I can't give up now, I can't. I push off from the ground and rocket back the way I came.

Up ahead there's a narrow road and on the other side, a park. Should I risk it? If I pick up some pace, I might be able to get swallowed up in the bushes and hide out for a while.

It's worth a shot.

I barrel across the roadway, eyes stinging with sweat. There's no traffic - nothing moving except for a lonely plastic bag that waves sympathetically as I pass.

Trees loom over me like a convention of friendly black ghosts. I thump across the wet grass and weave in and out of the trunks.

Footsteps clunk across the asphalt behind me. There's no mistaking the Strangler's heavy thud.

I gulp more air and charge towards the miniature rainforest. The ferns grow thickly here under a canopy of dense leaves. I toss my bag into the shadows and crawl in after it. The earth smells like damp mushrooms. I slither into its sogginess like a python making a nest.

My heart thuds against the earth. A dribble of saliva leaks down my chin. Hide-and-seek with Mum was never this scary.

Something moves in the bushes. My ears go on high alert. There it is again. A papery sound like someone reading a comic (unlikely) or …or someone parting rainforest fronds (more likely).

I get a whiff of freshly knotted rope.

Uh oh.

I'm dead. Extinct. Kerputt! I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I'm a mossy log.

A voice breaks the thick silence. "I can thee you in there."

The Strangler must have swallowed a loose frond but that doesn't stop the voice from giving me goose bumps.

I slither out backwards, pulling my bag by the strap. The vinyl feels damp and I nearly lose my grip.

I turn and run.

Ouch.

I didn't see the tree root. My ankle turns sharply and my knees buckle. I stumble forward. The speckled grass rises up to meet me.

I grab a low branch and somehow stay on my feet, blundering through the trees, blindly.

I'm out of the park, stumbling along an empty footpath. The shop windows stare blank-eyed and the stench of stale pizza crawls out of the gutter. This is definitely not the trendy end of town. I dart a look behind me, then let out the kind of whoop usually reserved for surprise parties.

There's no one there.

I feel like someone just pulled an elephant off my back.

I creep into the darkened entrance of an old boot shop and suck in some air. In the distance, I hear the hoot of the ferry on the river. I'm not far from home.

I think about Mum heading back to the caravan after a fruitless search for me tonight. She won't be feeling too impressed.

Funny - across the street is a battered sign that reminds me of Mum. A silhouette of a graceful dancer in mid-air. Underneath it says: Fancy Foot Studio. I get an image of Mum in her red spangly costume, swinging on the high trapeze. Mum - the greatest attraction at Boz Brothers' Circus. I used to sit in the front row every night and watch her with my mouth gaping open. There she'd go… whoosh... a speccy dive off the highwire, a double somersault through the air, a wave to the crowd and a neat grab of the swing just a split second before it slid away from her grasp. Mum's act was so hot she was called The Sizzler.

Suddenly, I get an ache in my throat and it isn't from being out of breath. I think back to THAT day. The day Mum got sacked from the circus. I was in the caravan trying to cram spelling words into my lame brain when Mum's phone rang.

"Hello." Her voice went from to calm to cross to full on ballistic in three seconds flat.

"Yes. What? The Flying Furball! YOU'VE GOT TO BE JOKING."

Whump…clack…plink (Sound of phone bits bouncing along the floor.)

I knew straight away what had happened. Mum had broken the phone. That's the sort of thing people do when they find out they have been replaced by a prettier, younger version of themselves. This younger, prettier one is called Countess Zerble and her stage name is The Flying Zerble. Mum calls her The Flying Furball because of all the feathers and fluff she wears.

It seemed that Mum's boss didn't even want her to go on the next tour. That was fine with me because I'd just started at my nineteenth school and I wanted to stay in one place for a while. It wasn't fine with Mum though.

"What will you do now?" I asked, taking her hand.

Mum's face was squeezed shut. She stared at a spot somewhere behind my left ear and shook her head as if checking to see if her neck still worked.

The circus was Mum's life. She lived for the roar of the crowd. The clapping and foot-stamping and whistling and cheering.

But Mum is as tough as old goats' knees. The next day she roped in an ex-circus performer called Max and developed a fresh act. A week later they took it to the streets under Mum's new stage name. Then, two weeks after that, disaster struck again. Max met a Country and Western singer called Beryl and they ran away to Tamworth. Right now, Mum's working on a replacement.

The street is as quiet as the grave. I risk a peek around the corner. No sign of the Strangler.

To my left are a couple of shops, then the street dips steeply towards the river. If I can make it to the footbridge, I can take the short cut to the caravan park. Heck, I might even get home before Mum.

I take off down the hill

past a video shop

past a tattoo parlour

across the grassy strip

puff

nearly at the footbridge

…puff…puff…

I'm gonna be … all right

…puff…

Everything's gonna be-

"Got ya!"

A weight lands on my shoulder with the force of a caged lion. I swivel my eyeballs in the direction of the voice and there, right at the end of my nose is … the Strangler.

Somewhere a cat yowls.

I know it's crazy but I'm not about to give in yet. I can't. It's like when you have to go see the dentist. You're in the waiting room listening to all that drilling and grinding and shrieking and you know, you just know you're going to get a face full of pain and yet... every time that nurse with the fake smile comes in, you want her to aim it at someone else. Like, you know there will be torture, but not yet…pleeeze… not yet.

My eyes scan the riverbank for an escape route. Anything. An underground tunnel, a low-flying plane, an alien spaceship, a …my eyes widen…

Across the grass there's a bunch of barbeques and behind them is a public toilet. It was built for the ferry crowd and it's a huge place with a door on either end. If I can just… just get to that toilet block, I might be able to dash in one end and out the other. Then I'm over the footbridge and home sweet home. Yeah!

I lift my eyebrows into an astonished look and point to a spot on the Strangler's forehead. "Spider!" I shriek.

It's an old trick, but it works. The Strangler's grip loosens just long enough for me to duck my head and make a run for it.

I hear a gasp of surprise and footsteps clumping across the grass behind me. Growing louder. Louder. My legs feel weak. I have a pain in my side that cuts like a knife. I'm nearly there. Three metres, two metres…

"You won't get away," mocks the Strangler.

I summon my last crumb of energy and chuck a right turn into the great black cavern of the doorway.

Yes!

NO!

My head rams into something hard. Something hard and cold. I groan in disbelief as my fingers close around metal.

I am smack up against the ironwork of a security gate.

Trapped.

The Strangler is gentle with me. More gentle than I could have imagined. A fat slug of rope is looped around my wrists and knotted around the iron bars. More rope is produced and still more until my legs, arm, neck can barely move. You have to admire the Strangler's skill.

The worst part is when a paper bag is pulled down over my head. It smells of potatoes.

"And now ladies and gentlemen," announces the Strangler in a cheery voice, "Stella Starkle, world famous escapologist, will free herself in under thirty seconds. Let's have a drum roll….dum de dah……"

I don't move. I can't. I'm too fed up.

The Strangler's breath is hot against my ear. "Come on, Stella."

I try to shake my head but the rope holds me tight.

"We'll make a great double act. You know we will."

There is a nudge in my ribs and then … no! A torturous tickling under my arms. I wriggle and squirm and try not to explode with laughter. The tickling gets worse.

"All ri-ight!" I yell.

I twist to the right and grab the rope in my mouth. Then I shoot my head up fast just like the Strangler taught me. Like I've done ever since I was old enough to tie my own shoelaces. A duck to the left, head down, chin to throat, shrug the right shoulder, twist 180 degrees, hands above head, raise the left knee and… voila! The rope slips to the ground like melting toffee.

I rip off the paper bag.

Mum grins like a big kid and runs her hand through her spiky hair. She looks out of breath. Knot tying is not exactly an Olympic sport but, hey, it makes a top busking act.

Then I realise Mum's probably worn out from chasing me around the back streets of Adelaide.

"I know you wanted to walk home on your own," she says as she scoops up rope. "But I just couldn't let you…maybe when you're older…."

I remember my panic in the alleyway when I thought I was being stalked. Before I saw it was Mum with her Strangler's gear. Then I panicked some more. Mum looked wild enough to explode all over the footpath.

Right now, she doesn't look a bit like exploding. I guess that's because she's just roped the great Stella Sparkle into her new act. Her grin seems to fill the whole world. She even gives me a round of applause as I step out of the last coil of rope.

There is only one thing left to do.

I take a bow.

After all, I am a super star!

The End

Jill McDougall is the author of over seventy books for children including chapter books and junior novels. She also runs writing workshops in her home town of Adelaide in South Australia. Jill lives in a cottage by the sea and shares her space with many interesting animals including two dogs, five hens and a rather large spider. Information about Jill's latest book can be found at http://www.bananabooks.com.au/html/splits.htm

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