And then she came.

Across the wet grass between the dormitory blocks, heralding herself with a strident, indrawn wail like the sound of darkness laughing.

If any of the wakeful inmates heard her, they did not look up. If they had seen, they would not have dared to believe. Only he knew.

For she was coming to him.

The tree outside his dorm window shuddered, shaking off a night fragrance that was not its own-a scent pungent to the point of rot.

The boy lay naked on his bed, knowing there was no point in being anywhere else. She would have him there and had been violent getting him there on previous nights; he did not wish to extend the struggle or invite her wrath. Her affection was terrible enough.

One night, months ago, returning late from a party where he had drunk almost too much, he’d glimpsed her-a pale stranger, standing on the edge of a dark field. Not sober enough to be superstitious, he had lingered and looked. As he ogled, overstepping curiosity and forgetting caution, his as-yet-untried manhood swelled with lecherous urges. Then he had stumbled on his way.

But she had sensed him. Had heard his unworded lust, felt his molesting thoughts as he passed into the night.

And she had responded.

Every night since.

Every single night since, he had refused all engagements, denied all company, in order to be in his room at this time, in his bed, waiting for her to come and claim him and take her pleasure.