Voice in the back of my head, sounds like wind in tall grass.
Keeps telling me crazy things.
Like run, and hang on, and don't look back and maybe jump.
The face in that still puddle gazes at me with disappointment and compassion.
Looking over its shoulder all the time.
And there's a tilting-over house on the edge of town with three or four bad guys living in it, and they come out at night and clip telephone wires.
Light from under the door, but only when I'm not looking.
I can convince you of everything.
. ...'t