Do you hear that sound?

That crawling in the wall?

Do you see that shadow?

Or is it just a shawl?

Something hanging on

The coatrack or

Clothes under the bed?

That's not what I see.

I see things that are dead.

You really can't see them?

Their terrible grins?

I can see right through

Their translucent skins.

They like to reach out,

Groaning behind doors.

These things love to run,

And stomp on creaky floors.

But you swear you don't see them?

They're around throughout the day.

They even like to follow you,

But you don't know what they say.

A whispered message in your ear,

They latch upon your back.

Don't look at me like I'm

Some sort of maniac.

One is right behind you.

I see that you feel cold.

Just don't turn the lights off.

They can't be controlled.