“I open the gates with a click of the remote. The tires scrape on the gravel as we go through and pull over in front of the house. I get us out and slam the door.
   ‘Keep the change,’ I hand over two fifties to the driver.
   He takes the money, stares at it, then at me.
   ‘Bye now!’ I gesture for him to clear off and he does. The gates close automatically behind him.
   As we approach the front door, I look up to admire the house. The three story Victorian pile rises up like a rocky summit against the moonlight. It has its own mini forest at the back. The imbecile who owns the property no longer has any use for it. Or anything else for that matter.”

A birthday drink or two in a bar with a rowdy group of mates. What could possibly go wrong? A young man is enjoying his evening. He is chatted up by a sexy mysterious woman, unaware that she has been watching him. After the party is over she secretly follows him.

No, not yet. But nearly there. The red void behind the horizon has faded, but it is still too light. I can clearly see the humdrum faces around me. Why are they so pre-occupied with their chattering and beer? Don’t they know what is about to happen? Be quiet. Lift your eyes.
   Wait. What is that familiar tune the guitar player is trilling? What is it? Of course! Bach’s Toccata. He plays it so off hand it sounds innocuous, but he must be a real musician to follow this masterpiece melody. Why is he basking? He knows, the guitar player.
   Dusk is here. Mind wondered for a minute, and I’ve missed the start. Although I can never tell the exact point. This indefinable instant when the never-ending day yields to the forthcoming darkness, but not completely. When it is neither day nor night. Both at the same time.
   The balance between light and dark slowly shifts from one to the other with melancholic inevitability. But for about twenty minutes or so the time seemingly slows down and stands still, enchanted in twilight limbo. Strange milkyness fills the air, connecting all things, as cyan tinges the palette. I soak it up. Walk dreamlike. Bathed in magic. The blue mist even changes the passer-bys from monotonous to mysterious, like guests at a Venetian masquerade.
   Why does this haze always remind me of the sea? No matter where I am - beneath a frosty mountain or in a balmy crumbling metropolis. I always think of a rocky shore, gentle summer breeze, the murmur of the waves. Huge sky and the sea merging into cerulean vapour on the horizon. And something about ancient Greece. Remnants of an old civilisation…
   Oh no, don’t end, not yet! Too late, it’s gone. I can see my shadow beneath the streetlamps. Night triumphs in celestial chess. Until tomorrow.