There’s a prickling at the back of my neck and a sensation of spiders crawling up my spine. My heart is pounding as my eyes dart around like a hunted animal. I know you’re watching from somewhere. From the cobwebbed corners shrouded in darkness? Behind the slight crack in the door? I look, but I can’t see you anywhere.

My ears ring bright as I tear my house apart. I search the closet, the cellar, the basement. Glass breaks and miscellaneous objects crash to the floor. There’s nothing—no one—here, but that’s is impossible. I _know_ you’re here, you treacherous eye.

I claw at my hair; I can’t take it anymore. My brain itches and my forehead sweats and I can’t think of anything but you. The whole world is blurry. I can’t shake this buzzing feeling; it’s like a thousand mosquitoes swarming my face. Dear God, where in hell are you and what do you want? I’m crying, screaming, shaking. It’s terrible. I’d close my eyes, but every time I try, I only see yours—and it’s blood red iris and cracked yellow veins. Staring. Blinking.

Watching.