A clear whistle outside your window. A shadow that looms over your head. A presence that always lurks right behind you; it’s a hand on your shoulder, it’s the breath on your cheek, a frightening hum tapping on your ear drums. It’s more than just fear that you’re feeling, your body is stiffening out of respect.
You respect this being whose eerie reputation is an entity within itself. It needs no words to speak — instead his lips are just a placeholder for the smile etched onto his face. Etched into your mind.
This is how it always starts. A myth; a legend. A sudden rumour that he’s been sighted and now he’s in your house, your room, underneath your bed.
Now he’s in your head.