Ever-Spector
A flicker, movement,
A vague outline, humanoid in form.
Blood drip, drip, drips from scythe tipped fingers,
The rich scent of iron floods the room,
The moon is gone, new, and the stars cloaked in fog,
No light to fend off the shade,
The only sound is it's ragged panting.
It waits for the unwary,
Fools who stray from the light,
Into it's clutches.
Some days,
It is nothing but a mere malevolent presence,
A chill in the air,
Others, so real the air is flavored with rotten meat from it's breath,
The remnants of the last child it consumed.
It comes out when they are alone,
And hides when they are not,
But,
It is always there.
Ever watching.
Waiting…
For the opportune moment to strike.