They say the truth is stranger than fiction, but sometimes the truth is stranger than itself.
We remember the nights all wrapped up in our blankets, when we felt something was there; we saw the looming shadows, we heard the scraping on the window like something was trying to get in. Some of us called for help, some turned on the light ourselves. Then it seemed the scraping was just a branch, the shadows were cast by a hanging shirt, not a monster.
But no one ever truly believed the explanations. We never truly accepted nothing was there. Because, how can we know? We tried to explain it with our science, saying the creaking is the house cooling down or the light bouncing off things making shadows, but how? It seems impossible. It's pitch black, so how can there be shadows? The leaf of that branch is barely touching the screen; how can it be so loud?
We have the best killer, we have the best defense, but how come we don't have the best hider? Because how would we know it was there? But we do know it's there, we've known all along in that feeling that someone or something is watching.
Some show it, telling others the truth. Slenderman, Jeff the Killer, The Rake, Freddy, Foxy, Chica, Bonnie, BEN drowned, Herobrine, Bigfoot, and The Yeti; all manifestations of that feeling. Because something is watching, watching all of us. It takes many forms, it hunts you, like it hunts all of us. When you talk to yourself, you aren't really... you’re involuntarily talking to the thing,
The thing that is watching. Right now.