Strangely, I wasn't frightened. No, in fact I was happy to see her, this was my chance to ask questions, to get to the truth and help her.

"What's your name?"

"Clara."

"Let the chicken go, Clara."

"No. It is innocent, like me."

I noticed that she was holding on to the creature so tightly that it was struggling to live, "Clara, you're hurting it, let it go."

She grasped it into her even tighter, "They wanted to hurt it, to use it for Juju, kill it to banish kindoki from me. I have saved it." She squeezed it ever harder until its head flopped and it rattled out its last breath.

Clara looked down at its lifeless, limp body and gently placed it on the floor, "It is sleeping in peace," she said, stroking it affectionately.

She stood up and her body shook and trembled; her obvious distress compelled me to her and I embraced her in a hug. Her hot tears flowed down my neck, soaking my school shirt. Eventually I prised her from me, "Clara, tell me what's happened to you?"

Her grip on me loosened and she pulled away. She wore inappropriate clothing for the cold weather, jeans and a flimsy, stained white t-shirt, and she wore cheap flip flops on her muddied feet. Slowly she lifted her t-shirt and my jaw dropped, "They burn me."

Her torso was thin, yet her stomach slightly bloated, but I could clearly see that her belly was covered in what looked like viciously raised, scabby cigarette burns. "They try to burn the kindoki from me, and when that does not work, they beat me."

"Who are they, Clara?"

She lowered her head, "My aunties. They sent for me, to come from Nigeria to help them." As she talked, I noticed her begin to calm a little, "Shortly after my arrival, my uncle became sick. He spent many weeks in the hospital before he died. They blamed me. They say I brought the demon with me, inside me, and the demon killed my uncle. That is why they burn and beat me, to make the demon leave me."

"Do you believe you have a demon inside you?" I ask.

She rubbed her stomach, "I feel nothing inside me, only a space, an empty space that wants to be filled with food." Her long finger nails caught several of the raised scabs, tearing them off, causing them to bleed, "When I ask for food, they say 'We will not feed the demon,' and beat me some more."

To my horror, I watched as she raised her blood stained fingers to her mouth and began to lick and lap up her own blood. This girl was so hungry she actually sought nourishment in her own bodily fluid.

While she physically bled, my heart metaphorically bled and I reached my hand out to her, "Clara, don't do that. I will take you with me, to my friends house and we will give you food." Her bloodied hand took mine, "Then we will go to the police and report your aunties for this abuse," I say.

She suddenly shouted, making me jump, "NO!"

I recovered from her outburst and asked, "Why not, Clara? The police will help you?"

She shook her head, "No. The police will punish me. And when they return me to my aunties they will kill me to rid the kindoki. They will tell the police I have returned to Nigeria. I am just a poor girl, I will not be missed, I will be forgotten."

I squeezed her hand, "Clara, the police won't punish you, they'll help you," I reassured her.

She dropped her head as if in shame, "No. I will be punished, for hurting my aunty." Stepping back a little, I asked, "Clara, how did you hurt her?"

She lifted her head and looked me straight in the eye, "After you left, my aunty took me in and tended to my wounds. This morning she woke me early and beat me. She called for some uncles to come and perform an exorcism on me this afternoon. But before they came she made me lie in the bath, to sacrifice the bird on me." She looked down again and her voice fell, "I snatched the knife from her, and cut her with it." She looked at the lifeless chicken, "I took the chicken, and walked, and walked, until I found an open door." She lifted her head and looked past me, "And this door was open."

I believed this girl, I saw the evidence of her abuse, and Dylan had told me enough about the practice of Juju in London to make her story ring true. But I had to be realistic, so I asked, "Where on her body did you hurt your aunty?"

"Everywhere."

"Did you kill her?"

"I do not know. But I know I wanted too."

In her eyes I saw desperation and truth as she continued to explain, "She was bleeding heavily; but she phoned somebody and I heard her say, 'I have been taken by the demon.' I left her, and now I am here with you."

My mind raced, wondering which way to turn, where to go next. But that decision was made for me when a voice, courtesy of a mega-phone boomed into the school corridor – "Clara, give yourself up. The school has been evacuated and we are coming in."

The voice was replaced by the clamour of racing footfall as four armed police officers rounded the corridor, their firearms aimed at Clara.

Anger coursed through me; this was my London school, not some American High College with an armed shooter on the rampage. These cops were aiming their guns at an abused and clearly malnourished young girl.

I couldn't help it, I let rip, "Get real, this girl needs food and love, not cops and guns!"

The one female cop lowered her gun, "Watch your manners young lady. And how did you slip through the net, we were told the school had been fully evacuated," she said, while cuffing Clara's bloodied hands behind her back.

"Well, you were told wrong, then, weren't you?"

She shot me a look, "Don't piss me off, or you'll be tasting prison grub tonight, as well."

I changed tack, "Come on, it's obvious this girl's an abuse victim, show her some mercy."

The officer pushed Clara forward, "She didn't show any mercy. Count yourself lucky, girl. My colleagues will take your details then you go get yourself home safe and sound."

###

I raced at speed to the phone repair shop on my high street. My heart was thumping; mum knew I'd be home late, but Dylan didn't know I wouldn't show.

My hand shook as I pressed his number. He picked up almost immediately.

"Benita, where are you?"

"At the phone shop, can I come round?"

"Of course you can, are you alright, I've been so worried about you."

His concern made me feel a whole lot better, "I'm ok, but I've got some tale to tell. I'll be there in ten minutes."

###

It felt good to be back inside Petal Road. I immediately felt safe when I walked through the door. Dylan was dressed casually in jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, lazy lounge about gear. I told him everything while he rustled up a chicken chow mein with skill and an impressive handling of a fiery hot wok.

"This is amazing," I complimented him, as I woofed down the noodles, suddenly realising how hungry I was and also having a pang of guilt for poor Clara.

Half way through the meal, I thought of someone else and put down my chopsticks, "Where's Polly?" I asked.

"She's upstairs in her room. Polly likes routine, she has to eat at specific times, otherwise she gets upset." He picked up my chopsticks and handed them to me, "Eat," he smiled.

I continued eating as Dylan explained, "It's probably best I don't introduce you to her tonight. She was expecting to meet you earlier, and she wouldn't understand why the time was changed and why I'm taking her away from her night-time gaming hour.

Thinking his explanation a little odd, but respecting his decision, I just shrugged my shoulders and finished the chow.

###

Dylan handed me a glass of coke, "The thing is, we don't know what Clara's done to her aunt. The police presence and them having to evacuate the school, means they have evidence to suggest Clara's a threat to the public," he said, while rinsing out the wok and hanging it from an overhead utility rack.

"But it's clear she's been starved, beaten and abused, surely the police will take that into consideration," I said.

"Of course they will. But again, we don't know what they've found inside that flat, obviously stuff that's caused them to think Clara's a considerable threat."

"Yes, the police woman said to me, 'Count yourself lucky, girl,' suggesting I'd had a lucky escape." I pondered, "Do the police know about juju?"

"They should do, but I don't know how seriously they take it."

I put my empty glass down, "I have a gut feeling Clara's the real victim here, I want us to help her, Dylan."

Dylan picked up my glass, took it to the sink and began washing it, "We will. We'll start tomorrow with our visit to Pastor Abadom." He turned to me, "Meet me in the coffee shop at nine in the morning."

"I'll be there."

"Great. You'll have to go now, Polly will be down in fifteen minutes for her warm milk, and I don't want her getting upset."

###

Dylan almost seemed scared of Polly. No, not scared, more like controlled by her. And another thing, I noticed how methodical he was in his cooking; he meticulously cleaned and put everything back in its place. I even joked about it and asked him if he had obsessive-compulsive disorder. He said, "No, but Polly likes everything to be in its rightful place."

###

'I'm not sure I want to meet Polly,' I thought, as I ambled through the darkened streets on my journey home.

I know these streets, intimately. I don't fear them, they don't faze me. I can read them like a book, I know the chapters to skip and keep me safe.

We south London girls have eyes in the back of our heads. And that night as I walked home, I knew I was being followed. You know that feeling when someone is travelling too close behind you? I stopped. They stopped.

I turned round and looked at an ancient old woman, "You following me old timer?"

"Yes. And you show respect to your elders," she said, through a tight, age withered mouth. She was dressed in a long, belted black coat, and she carried a wooden walking stick, with an ornate crystal top that made it look more 'weapon' than 'walking aid.'

She didn't scare me, I actually recognised her, she was a familiar figure on the streets. "Why you following me?"

She pointed her stick back towards Petal Road, "I notice you've got friendly with that kid from the house, the murder house," she said.

"Yeah, so what's that got to do with you?"

She smiled a wide toothless smile, "Oh, more than you'll ever know, sweetheart." She carried on walking and I followed after her, "What do you mean?" She came to a swift halt, "I thought that'd make your ears prick up. Now, you and him have poked your nose in on that mess over at Paddock Field, ain't ya?"

"How did you know?" I asked, fearful we were in trouble.

She carried on, "Oh, Granny Grace knows all about the evil round here. Come on sweetheart, I'll shout you a cuppa tea, we need to have a chat."

"Shall I call Dylan? He'd like to be involved in this chat?" I asked.

She kind of cackled and said, "Naah, no point sweetheart, it's after hours, he won't leave that sister of his. You need to talk to him about her."

"What do you mean?"

She stopped and rolled her eyes, "Christ all mighty, you're just like your bleeding father, always asking questions."

"What, you knew my dad?" I asked, stunned by the knowing in her talk, dropped so casually.

She pointed her stick forward, "Come on sweetheart, I'm perished, let's get indoors and have a cuppa char and chat."