The Strangest Truth

thay say the truth is strager than ficton, but sometimes the truth is stranger then itself.

we remember the nights all wrapped up in our blanket, when we felt something's there, we saw the looming shadows, we heard the scraping on window like something is trying to get in. some of us called for help, some turned on the light ourselves. then it seemed the scraping was just a branch, the shadows where cast by a cast by a shirt, not a monster.

but no one ever truly believed the explanations we never truly accepted nothing was there. because how can we know? we tried to explain it with our science saying the creaking is the house cooling down or the light bouncing off things making shadows, but how? it seems impossible, it's pitch black black how can there be shadows, the leaf of that branch is barely touching the screen how can it be so loud!

we have the best killer, we have the best defense, but how come we don't have the best hider, because how would we know it's there. but we do know it's there, we've known all along in that feeling that someone or something is watching

some show it, telling others the truth, slenderman, jeff the killer, the rake, freddy foxy, chicka, bonne, BEN drowned, herobrine, big foot, and the yeti! all manifestations of that feeling. because something is watching, watching all of us. it takes meany forms, it hunts you, like it hunts all of us, when you talk to yourself you're not, your involuntarily talking to the thing

the thing that is watching. right now