Homicyde®

The WatcherThe man on the stairs, leans over the rail, but I don't see his face so pale. He doesn't smile, he doesn't frown, He won't go up: he won't come down. He has no mouth, he has no hair, some people say, he isn't there. But still he stands, and watches me, with blackened eyes that I can't see. As I sit gazing down the hall, his shadow flickers against the wall. Just one glimpse and then he's gone, but he'll be back before too long.