I know that must sound crazy, but may I never raise a glass again if it isn't true; the white face gleamed with the look of a dipso who is having his first drink for a long time, then the man at the bar turned, a full glass was in his hand so I guessed he'd ordered a refill, and he came towards our table so that for a while they stood side by side, the Thing and him, only I knew he did not know he was not alone. Then he suddenly saw my girl friend, the Thing's eyes lit up as well, and together they approached the table, an action that didn't make me feel happy, or, if I was to judge by her expression, the little lady either, for she looked as terrified as a rabbit at a stoat's convention.

'Don't leave me alone with him,' she pleaded, 'he's poison.'

I said nothing as he came up to the table and I could tell he'd seen a lot of tough American films, because he just grabbed a chair and sat down; the Thing stood behind him, its eyes fixed on the girl, while its lips kept moving, and I found myself trying to guess what it was saying.

The man ignored me, a fact that he would have regretted if I hadn't been so concerned with what he brought with him, and when he spoke to the girl it was with a slight Cockney accent that is so popular with pop singers.

'So I found you — up to your old tricks again, looking for suckers, and I see you've found one.'

He looked at me, but much more important the Thing did so as well, and I saw a gleam of speculative interest in its dreadful eyes, so that terror made me empty the sixth glass and make a beeline for the bar. The young man laughed, a high pitched whining sound, but I did not care, so long as the Thing stayed where it was he could laugh his head off. But I could not leave the bar, I had to stay and watch this macabre drama, and though I would not face the truth the tall black figure held a repellant fascination for me; I felt an urge to touch it, to hear it speak, even as a child might want to finger fire.