Once again, as soon as she entered the crowded little nightclub, he was transfixed as soon as he set eyes on her. Exquisite creature. Out of this world, sheer perfect loveliness beyond words. A thousand little She’s, reflections of her mirrored in the disco glass globes, the mirrored ceiling, splintering, coming together again, in a dizzying array of psychedelic colour. Those tiny, slender limbs, swaying tirelessly to whatever ineffable rhythm her ears alone were able to pick up, those unworldly, elfin features with that inscrutable expression as she moved to the dance floor. Just like a Mona Lisa somehow stepped out of her painting and released from the straitjacket of her canvas, into real life. And that impossibly luxurious bush of cascades and ringlets with their lunar glints of pale auburn, that unfeasibly long hair, possessing almost, it seemed to him, a life of its own. Was it an extension, he wondered again, as he had done on so many previous occasions, when he had had the privilege to feast on her appearance. He would be so disappointed if it were.

He still did not even know her name, and suspected she probably did not even guess that she was the sole raison d'être for his existence these days. That he passed his weekdays, his work days with a sense of an aching meaninglessness until the weekend. That each Saturday evening, when he propped himself at the bar and tried to make a half litre of lager last the whole evening under the baleful eye of the money-hungry bar staff, he tortured himself. Yes - tortured himself - with a wrenching angst in his chest he had never in his life experienced before until these days, that she might not come.

Would she have ever noticed him? A mere unimpressive little mortal like him??? No way - she was a lioness, in another league. Robert. ‘Robbie.’ Even his name was as nerdy as he felt himself to be. But the passion inside him. Like a bomb, like a volcano in its intensity, white heat. Just light the blue touch paper, and... What he would do to him, if he were ever allowed to hold her, caress those soft and heavy locks and that firm, lithe form...

'Same again, sir?'

Damn them to hell. The bar staff were getting impatient with him again. The young girl looked with contempt at the shredded beer mats, the accumulated dog-ends within his ashtray, and he was sweating again, all butterflies. He hoped the girl had not noticed, though the faint look of contempt about her smile made him suspect that she did.

Damn again!! His clumsiness again and now another barman had noticed. You stupid, stupid idiot!!! Mentally he cursed, screamed at himself. He had knocked his drink over, and now it was all over his trousers, now he would look a right jerk, what would everyone here think of him??? Suppose she turned round and saw him in this state, what would she think, eh? Eh??? You stupid, stupid boy. You prat, you clown, you idiot. Clumsy Robbie. Ha, ha, ha, cocked it up again.

But as he surreptitiously glanced towards the dance floor, his stomach slowly somersaulted inside his hammering ribcage. She was not there. Vanished. Gone. Something seemed to seize inside his chest, and to clutch at his vitals...

Ah, the relief. There she was, she could see her now, in the corner, talking to her friends, still here, not gone after all. But... again, his chest tightened... her coat was on. She was going. Where could she be going, so early... his jaws clenched again. Not going home with some bloke, I hope. I'll kill her the little slut, if she is...

He made the decision then, the point of no return in his madness. No longer would he be able to pretend to himself that this was a harmless fantasy that meant nothing to him.

He was going to follow her home.

Wet crotch in his jeans forgotten, he swung - elegantly this time, though he said so himself - his coat round his shoulders, leaving this humiliating little hole for the last time. Now, he had better things to do.

It was cold outside and somewhat misty, but he had no trouble in picking her slender figure out. Something had appeared to annoy her, as she moved with rapid steps, almost marching away as if offended by someone. Robbie kept to the shadows at a discrete distance as she negotiated a series of dark corners and alleys, confident that the girl was not aware that she was being followed. Once he knew where she lived, he would finally be able to place her, discover her name, what she did through the neighbours, somehow inveigle himself into her circle, and one day they would get chatting in the most natural way possible, and she would invite him up for a cup of tea...

Now, the area in which he was being led grew quieter, as if almost uninhabited. So softly silent, almost as if the night itself were expecting him, and the mist seemed to thicken in tendrils around him, but that was enough: Robbie my lad, you were always over-imaginative as a child, weren't you.

But what was this? A hot vault slammed inside his diaphragm, an abrupt pang of shock... The girl must have stopped briefly, maybe to light a cigarette, who knew, he had know idea if she smoked or not, the point was... she was standing right in front of him. He could not believe it, the awful proximity to what had the object of his fantasy for so long.

He was about to stammer an apology about bumping into her, but somehow, he found himself pausing. The girl was looking at him, appraising him, and it was clear that she was quite, quite aware of his presence, probably had been for some time, and her eyes had sought his, and caught them. Probably, she could hear the banging of his heart too.

He could not help noticing that the perfection of her alabaster skin was now almost too perfect, in fact it was inhumanly flawless, as though real life had somehow failed to ever touch her. But wonder of wonders, she actually smiled then, though somehow, it was a wistful smile, almost sad. The lips parted, but there was no stirring in Robert's groin now, instead he was curled within himself, as if against the bitterest of winters, and he was absolutely rooted to the spot.

'Oh Robert,' the other sighed, almost imperceptibly. 'Oh, Robert.'

The fact that the girl knew his name bypassed Robert's mind, as he realised with yet another kind of rising panic that he was not just rooted to the spot; he was paralysed. Furthermore, he just could not tear his eyes away from the girls; it was if he was forced to look. Those eyes. Why had he not noticed it before, the deadliness of their fixity, like those of a viper. Terrible eyes, anti-life. Cold grey like steel, invading his soul, forcing their inexorable way into his innermost being, recognising and understanding every single little dirty secret he had ever tried to hide, from his mother, his peers at school who had bullied him so mercilessly, to his teachers, to his boss. Pinned he was now, like a butterfly to paper behind glass. He could not even blink, his own eyes ached and wept with the effort of remaining opened, powerlessly fixed to the ruthless gaze of their prey.

Now he realised that her hair was not just seemingly alive: with a sick groan of horror, he realised that it really did have a life of its own. He could see it now, he could now perceive it, slowly curling and unfolding, like the snakes he now knew her hair to be.

'Oh Dear God,' he moaned, though he suspected that dear God had long since banished him from his awareness. He was unable to tell how long those eyes had bored into him, transfixing him against his will, as what was left of the oxygen in his blood whined against the dying patterns of neurones, dancing against his own eyelids. And the inescapable annihilating glance of the other pitilessly devoured him, devoured his life, his essence, until finally, only the clay husk of his being remained. Perhaps to Robert, this process would have unfolded over time like an eternity as the inadequacy of his life history was played out cinematically in front of his inner eye, though in fact it did not take that long.

When he toppled over, his body felt as brittle as stone, helpless in his treacherous catatonia as the girl embraced his insensible body on the filthy pavement stained with oil and urine, tickling his chest, his groin, the suctions of her hair found his hidden flesh and feasted on the juices that still remained within him, like so many thousands of white, tentacled leeches... and there was not a thing he could do about it...