Night fell across Baghdad. Not darkness, which had already covered the city some hours previously, not silence, which the city's haunted streets never knew amid the skeleton dance of the guns. No, night came to Baghdad with the curfew, the true division of night and day, when the streets emptied of life and the last stragglers hurried back to the safety of their homes, abandoning the city. When they were gone, fear seemed to huddle in the darkened corners, waiting to ambush anyone whom ventured out, as if the shadows were populated by the ghosts of those who had died, unable to rest or find peace until their deaths had been avenged.