It is standing right behind you.
It is always standing right behind you, or near you. It is taller than you, and its head hangs down over yours. Mouth gaping, tall, boney limbs dangling. Sockets empty and fixed on you, always.
It inhales, little by little and exhales, bit by bit. You sometimes feel a touch of air sweep over the skin of your neck, and you turn.
There is nothing there, ever.
In the night, it looms beside your bed. Staring at you and staring at you and staring at you as you sleep and wander into a state of restful unconscious, fooling yourself into security and safety.
It regurgitates your nightmares.
When you are traveling alone, it is sitting beside you. Your eyes on the road, its sockets fixated still, in the direction of your being. You think nothing of it, because your ignorance gives you piece of mind.
Its head is crooked to the side.
In the night, when you wander your residence, it is lurking close behind you. It thrives when the sun is absent, and feeds off the dimness that falls over your home. The shadows cast by objects within your residence are just more places for it to breed.
It reaches out to touch you, but you always take a destined step forward.
And when you find yourself in the most lonely of states, without companionship, without family, without friends to bring warmth in an empty space with no pounding heart but your own, that will be when you turn around and you see it.
The thing that stands behind you.