It waits in the hall.

It waits in the hall.

On the landing.

Behind the cellar door.

In the coal house.

In the space beneath the stairs.

Under your bed.

The hole in the fence,

With just enough room

To fit your head.

And all you see

Is an upturned bike,

A three wheel trike,

A dirt filled sandpit,

With a broken doll,

Stuck on a spike.

The sound in the wall

You know is not mice.

The checking of doors,

And window locks

In every room,

Not once, but twice.

Put on a light

To puncture the gloom,

Whistle a happy tune,

Talk to yourself,

When you climb the stairs.

Refold a towel,

It must be neat,

Put down the toilet seat,

When nobody cares.

Avoid every crack

In the pavement,

On your way home.

And reach a lamp post

Before the next car comes.

Shine a light

In the corner,

Where shadows might play,

Listen for whispers,

With nobody near.

It is fear

You hear.

And it follows you

All of your days

Until you embrace it,

Defeat it.

Make it

Yours to control,

Then you will know

When it is real

Not imagined.