I always knew there was something wrong with my beloved grandmother. It started when she began rambling about a ‘creature.’
“It follows me,” she would whisper.
Her grey skin would become infinitely grayer.
“It talks to me,”
Her pupils dilated.
So, as any loving family would have done we assumed she was just ‘losing it’ and decided to put her in a home. Every now and again I visit my beloved grandmother and find her sitting in her chair talking to the empty room. She would turn to me and try to say something but instantly. She would tell me what she saw every night.
“White holes for eyes,”
Her frayed hair would stand up on her neck.
“It looks through my window, waiting for its chance,”
There go the eyes.
“Waiting, waiting for me to…” she went quiet for a moment “to… say it’s name…”
I dismissed this as another episode of hers and went about my life. Then one day, I went to see my beloved grandmother. As usual she was sat in her chair. But this time she turned to me and said its name.
My beloved grandmother mysteriously dissapeared that night.
To this day I struggle to think what she had called this creature stalking her for her remaining years.
Candle jack, was it?
I can’t rememb
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