I felt them on the back of my neck
Icy eyes with dangling fingers
Scraping just above the skin
Pulling at the fine hairs
I stop
And turn my head
Feet still planted
Narrowing my eyes
The porch void of any human gaze
I turn back, slowly, scratching at the back of my neck
Gravel now grinding under my shuffling feet
No one was there
No one was watching
And I begin to shuffle away faster
© Mike Yost
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