Unseen

The night was still, save for a breathless sigh that wandered pale through chamber, hall, and stair.

And though no mortal shape disturbed the eye, I felt a presence lingering somewhere... Not seen, but sensed.

As one may feel the storm before thunder speaks its dreadful name, or know, before the candle loses form... the dark has entered, hungry for the flame.

Behind me... Ever just behind...

A tread. So soft it scarcely troubled dust or floor. Yet in my breast its silent measure spread... Like distant knocking at a buried door.

I turned.

There was no huge figure in the gloom, no hand upon the latch, no gleaming eye; only the moonlight flooding through the room, like spectral waters from a silver sky.

Yet still it followed.

Through each winding thought, through every corridor of memory, where old regrets and nameless terrors wrought their moldering kingdoms in obscurity.

I dared not look again.

For what if there, at last, I found the watcher I pursued? What if the shadow haunting midnight air... had worn my face beneath its tattered hood?

So onward through the darkened house I passed, its timbers groaning low like things that grieve, and felt that unseen footfall, to the last, move when I moved and breathe when I would breathe.

No proof remained.

No whisper and no cry. No shape emerged from darkness to accuse.

Yet even now I feel it standing by...

A step behind.

Too near to trust... Too far to lose.