One morning, early, I heard it
It was close behind me
It's a ghost story
I hate to be alone with the shadow
Because at any moment I might see something
That would crouch and sink and lie like a black pool
And then slowly draw itself into the shadow that was nearest
Often, that shadow was my own
And then, one morning, early, I heard it
It was close behind me
A ghost story
And it was only a sigh
It was worse than the thing that crept into the shadows

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