careful little eyes

Something moves in this house. It’s never seen, never heard. But I can feel it.

It lurks in the darkest corners, sits in the overlooked spaces, dwells in the long hallway that leads to my room…maybe I should close the door.

It never speaks. But I hear it in the soft rattling of the vents and creaks in the floor where no one is standing, dismissed as background noise to most. It’s in the reflection you don’t quite realize is there until it’s gone, the book that’s slightly out of place from where you left it last, the strand of hair that falls in the absence of a breeze.

It doesn’t eat. But it feeds on the prickle at the nape of your neck, on the skip of a heartbeat, on the second look despite your best judgement. I don’t think it breathes, but I sense the air being consumed around me.

I wonder what it sees. And how much. I wonder if it’s hunting me. Or if it judges me.

Shhh…do you hear that?

I better go before it sees me.