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Mandy. After the escort left I had another shower, put on fresh clothes and went down to the bar. It was quiet: midweek, autumn, medium- price hotel outside town. I took a gin and tonic to a corner table and scanned my fellow- customers: three middle- aged couples celebrating a birthday or a wedding or a small lottery win, a few businessmen and women slaving over hot I- Pads or pontificating about economic prospects or the weather or the Middle East, and a handful of elderly locals drinking away their loneliness. The escort, whatever her name was, could have picked up more business here.

There was one other person, who sat in the opposite corner appraising me. She was in her mid forties, short, heavily built, black hair barely covering her ears, no makeup, no jewellery except a gold filigree necklace; dark jacket, jeans, trainers; intelligent eyes, knowing smile. Who was she? I raised my eyebrows and she did likewise. Drink in hand I went to her table and sat facing her.“Enjoy her, Douglas?”A stranger initiating a tête- à- tête in a hotel bar is disconcerting, especially when she addresses you by name and appears to know (if not in detail) how you’ve spent the previous hour in the privacy of your room. Possibilities flickered through my mind (hotel security, police, tabloid reporter, forgotten acquaintance?) but I dismissed them.

She wasn’t trying to pick me up, either, not in the usual sense. Not that I’d have wanted her to. I made a non- committal gesture.“I wouldn’t hire her again.”“Too expensive? Limited services? Poor performer?”“Brain of a pork pie and vocabulary to match,” I said, “so no conversation. Found a better use for her mouth.” She sniggered. I was wrong about the makeup; there was a trace of lipstick, blood red.

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I asked who she was and how she knew me. Mandy.” She shook my hand and her eyes crinkled. Yes, I know about you, Douglas: what you like, what you dislike.”Like and dislike are opposite faces of the same clay tablet.

You can’t have light without dark, summer without winter, joy without sorrow. Each pair is carved on a single block. What did this woman know about me, and how? Did she know how I loved what I’d once (in poetic mood) described as the moth- wing sound of falling snow, tiptoeing to the ground in lambs’- wool slippers, but detested the melting slush that squelched like a half- decomposed corpse under my boots? How I loved the call of April skylarks rising into a crimson sunrise through air redolent with heather and peat, but hated the fog- bound mire of November when no bird sings?

How much I enjoyed BDSM and humiliation, both giving and receiving?“So what do I like, Mandy? What do I dislike?” “You like pornography of a certain specialist sort.” She watched my face reel from the impact and grinned.

Want to watch a porn film, or wouldn’t you be interested since your passion’s so recently been consumed?”I drank half my G & T and leaned back in the seat. Love- making, pornography: opposite faces of the same clay block. But I’d had my fill of love- making for one lifetime.“It seems you know a lot about me, Mandy. My name, the fact that I’ve - ” “I know your taste in porn, Douglas: videos, DVDs, downloads.”How could anyone have discovered that? I occasionally selected dark stuff from online sources but I never talked about it, and my computer was protected against prying eyes. So what is my taste in pornography, Mandy?”She grinned again and finished her vodka and coke.

I turned aside; I can’t bear to see women drinking vodka and coke. Tastes differ, said her eyes; activities that excite one person disgust another.

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Rape, degradation of women,” she said; “typical male entertainments in both fantasy and reality.”I’ve never revealed those interests, I thought. Not ashamed, though - merely discreet.“Also castration fantasies,” she went on, “fem dom, forced - ”“What makes you suppose - ?”“I’m not supposing, Douglas. I know.” She leaned closer to me and whispered. I can show you films you’ll enjoy on a big screen in a small private cinema.

They’re longer, more explicit and more graphic than anything you could ever find online. Much better made. Much more interesting.”* * * * * * * *Specimen Five.

I can’t explain why I trusted Mandy. The journey in the back of her Volvo, the blindfold, her refusal to answer questions when the car finally stopped, her hands guiding me through narrow alleys between high stone walls – it should have made me panic and run. Perhaps her friendly façade and apparent personal interest assured me no harm was intended; at least, not tonight.

Or maybe it was anticipatory excitement, or a yearning for danger. Or was I wondering what else she knew about me? The reasons don’t matter. I went. Frost nipped my nose and ears as Mandy guided me out of the car, but after we’d negotiated the narrow alleys and a couple of staircases I breathed warm air, comfortable and musty as a Victorian parlour. Then she took off my blindfold. As promised, we were in a miniature cinema, dimly lit, with four short rows of red velvet seats facing a large white screen. Mandy gestured and I sat in the middle of the back row.

The seat was plush. She placed herself beside me, holding a remote control. The pair of us constituted the audience. Where were we? The traffic noise during the journey, the stopping and starting at road junctions, told me we’d driven into the city; but which part? The sounds had now faded to a whisper, either because we were distant from roads or because the building was sound- proofed. There was no point asking Mandy.

If she’d wanted me to know our destination she wouldn’t have blindfolded me.“The film’s in four parts,” she said. Given your tastes, the third part will entertain you most, but the first part shows the kind of action most men enjoy. The second part’s all talk; interviews; I don’t know whether it’ll do much for you. The fourth part’s for another night.”I asked whether there’d be intervals between the parts; drinks, ice cream, popcorn.

She pressed the remote and didn’t answer. Watch A Christmas Horror Story Online more. The screen darkened and the title appeared in large white letters, stark and enigmatic: SPECIMEN FIVE. A moment later the legend ‘A VALKYRIE FILM’ appeared. There were no other credits. The title and legend faded and were replaced by the subtitle PART ONE, which shortly gave way to the image of a public park.

There was a fragrant impression of summer evening but the paths and lawns seemed deserted. Then a young woman appeared. I recognised the location: Holland Park, Kensington, London.* * * * * * * *She strode along the path through the shrubbery beyond Holland’s statue, a tall slender brunette wearing a short skirt. A young man appeared from behind the camera and approached her. He was fair- haired, medium height, well muscled.

His voice was educated Southern English.“’Scuse me, can you direct me to Holland Park tube station?”She said “Yes” and pointed towards the east side of the park, and he put his hand up her skirt, fingers groping. The camera panned round to the front of his trousers; erection. The woman screamed “You bastard!” five times, battering him with her handbag and trying to kick him. He dodged the blows without taking his hand from between her legs.

He grinned.“What the fuck did you expect, walking through a deserted park at twilight wearing a short skirt?