Your feet seem to move on their own, against your will.

You don't want to sit down. You don't want to see the figure. You don't want to sit down. You don't want to sit. You don't want to.

You sit. You keep your eyes on the fire. You feel the figure turn, slowly, to look at you, as you beg them internally to stop.

don't look at me don't look at me don't look don't look don't look

The figure gasps in a breath, and gives a dry, raspy laugh. It laughs harder.

Something scuttles against your hand, your neck.

"What are you so scared of?" it wheezes, gleefully. "Is it me?"

"No," You whisper.