The Feeling Of Being Watched

She sitting at the desk,
Unsure of what to type.
It comes to her,
A Muse filling her head.
The words flow,
But some how,
They don't fulfill her.
The noises of the house are comforting.
Someone leaving,
The animals playing,
The passing of the cars.

Until she gets the feeling.
She's being watched.
And unknown presence,
That can't be seen.
  Who are you?
  Where do you come from?
  Why do you do the things you do?
Unanswered questions,
A man is at the door.
Standing there watching,
Curious as a cat.
Constantly looking behind her,
Some reassurance a cat is all it is,
Until she sees none.

She knows he is there,
She knows where he dwells,
The basement,
A source for all nightmares,
A scary darkness.
The house is old,
But still some doors don't open.
Perhaps for a reason.

A door knob jiggles,
A bowl of change is disturbed,
The bowl eventually moves,
And whispers are heard.

Who are these people
That we can't see.
Lost souls?
Those who wish to remain?

The girl gets more and more curious.
Each passing second,
It turns to fright.
She knows it won't hurt her,
But the fear of the unseen is to much to handle.
She leaves the room.
Into hers she goes,
In front of her altar she sits,
Praying asking,
The Lord and Lady,
  "Protect me in this house tonight"

Maybe its her imagination,
Perhaps it is a spirit.
Whatever it is,
Why do they watch?