When it turns he they it is ready. When it turns they are behind it. They will always be behind it.

This body is small but the sensation of its no-eyes on the back of its head expands until the weight of its menace fills the room, stretching through doorways and hallways upon hallways, in the chill wind and and the taste of bile and the prickle of static in the back of the little thing's throat.

Where are you going, little monster.

Do you think you can hide from us?