I began to notice girls in a different way, much like other fifteen-year-old boys, I suppose, but for me it happened suddenly, after the hallucinations began. It was as though all the girls I knew had suddenly come into focus. I didn’t initially connect the things that aroused me in my disordered sleep and the bodies of my classmates, because what happened during the night didn’t really belong to my waking life. My brain diverted my attention to localized detail. I don’t remember the names of the girls in my school, but I remember liking the curve of an ankle that belonged to a girl who always wore frilly socks folded over her school shoes. I was fascinated by girls’ joints. I liked their knees under tables, especially when they were eager to stop wearing tights in the spring, when it was still a little too cold and the skin on their legs turned purple and grainy. During the volleyball tournament, I watched girls fall to their knees for a save. I wanted to slip my index finger in the crook of the middle hitter’s elbow – I have no memory of her face, but I remember she had long, sand-coloured limbs – and press the sinew under the skin until I held the rope of her muscle. I wanted to pull her to me, forcing her elbow on to my shoulder, her head against my chest so she would have to look up into my eyes. I liked watching girls when they put their hair up in ponytails, which at the time were very fashionable. I lay on my bed at night as the wallpaper swirled into night flowers, the black Bugatti humming angrily from its frame, and woke up feeling like I hadn’t rested at all. I lost a stone in three months.

One night in June I opened my eyes to a figure in a top hat sitting at the edge of my bed. He began turning his head to face me, very slowly, and I felt extremely afraid. I could sense that the man was about to speak. I knew that what he had to say was extremely important and would bring about some kind of resolution. The feeling of dread increased as I waited to see his face and time stood still as the black fear clutched at my chest, and I waited, and waited, until I was sure my heart was about to give out, until I realized that there was no face, though the head kept slowly revolving on its hinge.

In the morning my chest stung like it’d been wound in barbed wire. My penis was so hard it hurt. I showered. I composed myself, put on my school uniform and took myself to the library to do some research. I have always liked to learn things: it is only once you’ve learnt everything about a subject that you can say you’ve truly mastered it.