terminatress

Walking. A noise. I turn. Nothing. Nothing behind me. I walk again, then look down. A shadow, of a tall tall man, and tenticle like shadows behind him. He puts a hand on my shoulder, his mouth parting into a gooey demise of teeth. He won't hurt me. He's always there. No one believes me when I talk about him. A tall man, very tall, with no face. I never hear him, but he's here. When I walk in my neighborhood. It's dark and gloomy, storm clouds coming and the kids all inside, fearing the storm. The woods blow with eerie winds. They say something lives there, so old and so ancient. I walk alone, sometimes slow on my road. I look at the grey ski