Horror
Nothing makes me more upset than when people misunderstand the meaning of horror.
Horror is not seeing a face staring at you from the darkness, it's not even being told that there's a face staring at you from the darkness. There might be. But that's irrelevant.
Horror is the power of suggestion combined with the human mind's ability to constantly distract itself, constantly second guessing itself.
Horror is the strange tapping you heard a few minutes ago and brushed off as just the sound of pipes in the walls, a flash of rain, or maybe an animal outside.
Horror is that moment when you check your phone for a brief moment and swear you see something move just out of sight, something just in your peripheral.
Horror is the knowledge of precisely how many rooms you have in your home that you haven't visited in a while, how many blind spots there are.
Horror is the sinking, nagging question in your chest of whether or not you remembered to lock the doors when you got home.
Horror is the strange tapping returning, only slower. More precise.
Horror lays in all the little details, all the places you forgot to check--
Right now, Horror may very well be sitting crouched under your desk, breathing ever so quietly and waiting for a chance to strike.
Or maybe, Horror has already found that chance.