He never knew what made him feel so sure
That someone else was lurking in the room
When nothing stirred and he was quite alone.
He sensed a presence unidentified,
An entity he felt and could not name.
The room was full of whispers and the night
Was cloaked in mystery. Sometimes he slept
And hour or two, but always when he woke
It was as if two eyes were watching him,
Watching and waiting endlessly – but why?
He shivered, and went reaching for the switch, –
The room was filled with light and nothing more.
Table and chair and bookcase, long familiar
And family pictures solemn on the wall.
Nothing beside – except the shape of fear.
He poured himself a drink and sat awhile;
“What´s wrong?” he thought. “I must be cracking up,
Perhaps I´m heading for a nervous breakdown.”
He held the glass and saw his hand was shaking;
“Ridiculous,” he said and forced a laugh.
He read a chapter, put the book aside
And took a pill. The light went out again.
As if a hand had shaken him awake
He came to slow and painful consciousness
And cried aloud, for then at last he knew -
He felt IT coming closer, drawing near
And closed his eyes, but could not shut away
A presence strong and irresistible.
“It wants me,” was his thought. His senses swam, -
The room dissolved and left him lying there.
They found him in the morning, and his face
Was calm and peaceful. Strangers envied him
And never quessed that he had lived with torment,
With silence and the ticking of the clock,
With loneliness and with the shape of fear.
