When a house is so dark that objects have no outlines, and so cold your breath is vapor, listen carefully. Do the doors creak? Does the cellar moan? Does the attic thump? Do the walls murmur as if someone is hiding inside behind the plaster? Do eyes follow you where you go? Do red splatters or palm prints appear and disappear? Do the windows shake? Does the front door knock at 3am?
Do shadows move in mock-human form with no visible creature to feed them? Do objects disappear when you look for them, then reappear later?
I’m there with you. I am a thing that death resents. I have always been nearby, teasing, changing your life, drawing evil to you.
Prepare to choke on spiders that I put into your mouth tonight while you sleep. And lure ants into your ears to scratch and chew. I’m here. I’m by your side. In your wardrobe. Or under your bed.