There is always something ……. (but what?)
behind the door
or scrabbling between the floor …… (polished wood…)
and the …. ceiling
and I never quite catch it
it moves quickly …. (that’s what scares me)
darting from dark to …. dark
half formed shadow …. ( eyes)
but I hear it. …. Oh, I hear it.
Sarah writes poems 
Mysterious. Maybe you should introduce yourself?
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My mother, bless her, always said that feeling was a loved one visiting. It always unnerved me when it happened.
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Reminds me of a time we had a wasp nest between floors that had gotten in through cracked pointing in the stone work of a home we lived in…
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Oh, nasty.
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Yes, indeed. Thankfully they hadn’t quite gotten through the ceiling – we let the pros handle that mess.
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We had a wasps nest in the roof of The Porch We Don’t Use. Walked into buzzmageddon.
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Ooh, eerie one, Sarah!
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