Many times, when I look out of the corner of my eye I see the figure of a man. As soon as I turn my attention to him, he disappears. He walks towards me when I’m not looking, sneaking in strides that are more horizontal than vertical. Each time a different person comes to me.
The first is a blank man. He is nothing but an empty shadow but. He wants me.
Sometimes he is a generic man with sandy brown hair and tired eyes. He watches me because I am nothing like his miserable wife.
It would be a lie to say I was never frightened by these sights.  Confusion fuels my fear because I can not tell if I am afraid of something that will cross me in the physical realm  or if the man is just company  in my mind. They are not hallucinations.
On rainy days when there is nothing to do but reminisce, I am visited by an elderly man on my shoulder.  He is not bitter, though- no one should be sad to grow old, he says; aging is as natural as the changing of the leaves in autumn. Wrinkles are road maps of a life well lived.
There are days when he is merely a memory. A quick glimpse and suddenly I can smell tobacco and ramen noodles. Smoking in the house is not safe if there are children home. He was the first man to ever leave me.
     Don’t fall asleep on the beach.
When I find myself in crowds, it is still never hard to find a spy. Eyes you can feel, eyes that are distant. But by the time you see him it is too late: he knows where you’ve been, where you are, and where you ought to go next. I never go where I ought to.
In my own home I catch him lurking around corners, although he looks more like the idea of a man than an actual one. I wonder if his presence is what spooks my dog sometimes. I hope he doesn’t knock anything over.
He never makes a sound.
In an old house the creaking of floorboards is enough to put a tingle down your spine. The shift and hum of the radiator coming to life ignites a fire in the pit of your stomach. Don’t look for him then.