The Stalker

   
’Oi, you.’ he called, coming up behind her with huge, balaclava-clad head and waving arm. The rain-laden wind whipped his overcoat about his legs and the solitary street light threw his shadow long on the cold wet pavement.  
  Nine pm, the business district was deserted she cast about for a taxi, a car to flag down, anything, anyone, desperate to escape the approaching spectre.  
  Janet had been working overtime, yet again, trying to pay off her rent arrears, walking home to save taxi fare. Now she feared it would be her undoing, a terrible mistake.  
  Her knees turned to jelly, and she backed away, clutching her arms around her trembling body only to find herself cringing in the corner of an unlit bus shelter. She was utterly trapped.  
  On he came, slowly, inexorably, a menacing giant. He entered her personal space and stopped, looming over her. His foul body odour seemed to permeate every fibre of her being.  Bile churned in her stomach. Stale tobacco stench oozed from his broken yellow/brown teeth and invaded her lungs. Vomit rose in her gorge.    
  ‘I watch’s you every night from that doorway, pretty lady’ he said in a dull, lifeless monotone, ‘then I follows yer’ he said slowly, The spectre's huge, dark staring eyes were mesmerizing.  
  Oh, please, God, she silently prayed, not this, please, not this. ‘Oh, sir, please, I’ve, … I’ve got some money.,.. you, you can have it’ she gasped. She fumbled through her pockets with urgent, shaking hands.  
  ‘I Don’t want yer money, pretty lady’ he said in the same expressionless voice. His hand came up slowly towards her breast. Janet felt hot pee sting her thighs as she began to wet herself ‘please…oh please….’ she whimpered, don’t…’.  
  ‘Anyway, you got no money, ‘cos you dropped this.’  
  She tore her eyes from his hypnotic stare to see he was holding out her purse.  
  He thrust her purse into her quaking hand, ‘I follows yer to see that you gets to the busy streets safe, pretty lady, I used to be a soldier yer knows.’  
  Without waiting for thanks, the old homeless man turned and shuffled back to his doorway.  
 ‘G’night pretty lady’ he called.