Don’t walk under street lamps alone, especially if they’re blinking. Don’t look down hallways past midnight, even if you hear someone talking. Don’t look out windows when everyone else is asleep. Because that’s how it gets you. 

“Mr. Amsworth, what is that?”

It starts when someone points it out to you. They usually don’t know what they’re doing. It’s usually a child or a grandparent or the neighbor’s cat that sees it first. But then you see it, looking at you. 

“Okay kids, eyes up here.” And then the bell rings. Then it’s gone. You try to do your work, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re going to see it again. You become so sure that it’s waiting for you that you start to make silly mistakes. You forget the rules.

“Heya, Walt! What, not gonna say hello?”

You learn new rules.

“Walter, are you okay? I haven’t seen you in a while. Call me back when you can.”

If you falter for a moment, it makes a move. Not that you can ever tell. How close was it yesterday? How close is it now? Was that it just then? Did you do something wrong? 

“Mr. Amsworth, are you okay?”

You start to obsess. You count every step, you take notes, make lists. What’s allowed and what isn’t? What it does? Why it does them? Everything else becomes secondary. 

“Walter, the kids have noticed you’ve been under the weather and —”

You just want to be alone.

“— just think you should take a few days off. ‘Til you feel better.”

You’re terrified of being alone. 

Leaving the house becomes dangerous. So you stop leaving. You cover your windows (it can still see you). You board up your doors (as if that will stop it). You make plans (as if they will work). You become tired. 

“Walter are you in there?”

And you wonder…

“Walter, are you in there?”

…if that’s how it gets you.