Corners

I have been seeing things in the room with me for quite some time.  It
used to be they were firmly planted in my peripheral vision.  Not
easily glanced at; requiring a full turn of my head, a twist of my
body to try and see what it was...

...But there was nothing ever there.

I would see something moving, maybe it was the shape and size of a
man, or maybe a shadow as small as a child, but always just out of the
corner of my eye. A figure not in focus, not quite clear and always
able to make me turn to try and see what it was.

But there was never anything there.

Nothing disturbed; no displacement of air or rustling of paper that
would make one believe that anyone had darted away, or hidden under
furniture, or behind a curtain, or in a closet.  Just the lack of a
solid object that must have been there, just a moment before I turned
to look.

Must have.

Now everything has changed.  The situation is different and this state
of having uninvited company is beginning to bother me.

They're no longer out of the corner of my eye. No longer a head turn
away. Now, I'll be washing the dishes or typing at the computer and
someone, perhaps something, is sitting just out of my line of vision. 
A mere glance away, an infinitesimal roll of the eye, a half a second
look left or right, and I should be staring someone...it, in the face.

A corner of my eye occupied by it, them, watching me should be easy to
spot now. It should be but isn't.

Ducking behind some invisible corner that I can't see around.
Or feel.
Or smell.
Or touch.

There are more of them.  Something is crawling.  Some...things are
crawling.  More than I can count.  They are many and smaller than
those who sit just out of my line of sight.  I can see them slowly
crawl just close enough, never quite reaching my hand or foot or arm
or any part of me I can see without glancing directly at that body
part.  Just out of reach.

When I look they too are gone.  Unlike those that sit and watch, these
slink and stalk me.  They are always moving; they scurry and race from
one point to another as if to get a better angle, a better seat in the
audience.  Following me into rooms or crawling quickly into my bed,
before I get into it, only to not be under the covers or under my
pillows...or in my hair...or in my mouth.

But I can't help but think that's where they must be.  That must be
why I can never see them.
Yet they are everywhere, all the time.

They must be in me.

Hiding in my corners.

Watching me.

"Wait. What's that over there? Oh. It's me."
Grendel