The Watcher

Let me tell you of my life, solitary but never alone. It was an early age, around four, perhaps five years of age when I first saw it, my watcher, my hidden observer.
It has tannish brown flesh, completely hairless, and somewhat glossy in countenance, as though covered In a gossamer thin skin that glistens wetly when it exposes itself to the light. It's head was strangely formed, and the sole features of the things face are a lipless, toothless mouth that screams wordlessly and two hollow sockets that hold only pits so black that I could see nothing inside.
It bears mention that these grotesque articles of emptiness bear no standard shape to that of a mans, irregular and chaotic ovals offering nothing to signify order or reason. It's body a soft, lumpy and plump mass, with elongated and thin limbs ending in odd nubs of smooth appendages that vaguely resembled hands and feet. It looked as some poor figurine crafted of clay formed by an amateur sculptor, flawed and hollow. It frightened me, in the beginning, when I first saw it peeking from behind softly swaying curtains that were drawn shut, or the open crack of a door in the dead of night, or from behind my fathers back when he stood before me as I looked up.
Of course my parents would dispel these fears after I told them of this monster in my closet, dismissing them as any good parent does to ward their children against the superstitions of the dark. It did little to alleviate my fear, but over time I found that this creature did nothing really. I could see that it quivered slightly, something I discovered as I saw it from the bathroom mirror behind me, it's shape a trembling shadow masked by the shower curtain. It did nothing to harm me though, offered no intent of ill will, and so I learned to live with my imaginary friend, although I could not approach it, as when I would reach my hand out , in that split second between a blink it would be gone, retreating from just beyond my sight to a different hiding place.
It was then my parents turn to be frightened, as I talked to drawn curtains and empty corners of hallways to what appeared to them as nothing. The fear turned to agitated bemusement, as then they had to dissuade me from belief in this imaginary playmate of mine now. I learned to play along with them, knowing not to speak to this creature, not that it ever says anything back to me. The closest relation to sound it ever produces is a soft, pitiable moan that awakes me on occasion on some moonlit nights, allowing itself to let its presence be know to me from somewhere in the darkened room, as though starved for my attentions.
For a period of my life I believed it was an angel fallen from heaven. A fallen guardian angel, always watching for me, but as I grew older and the miseries of life piled upon me I realized it was no guardian, nor did it shed any proof to a former divinity. No, it did nothing. Nothing but watch. Watch my failed attempts at relations, as I could not achieve any sort of intimacy when my eyes find it's empty, empty sockets staring into me from some secret hidey hole in the dark. Watch my fidgeting manner as I feel it's cold breath puff softly against my neck as it sits in the back seat behind me as I drive down the road. It knew every slight detail of my life, perhaps knew more than any other living creature could about any other creatures living moments, as it chronicled every itching minute , every creeping second of what I had or ever will do. A companion that offered no companionship, a shadow that was mine and mine alone but moved as not my own.
I write this on my deathbed now, immobilized by crippling disease, where I cannot see it, but I know it is there. Perhaps underneath my bed, watching from between the cracks of the headboard and mattress, an impossible vantage point, but all it needs is but a slit. I take some comfort in this, for I shall not die alone, but with the company of my other, who will follow me into my grave.

Reviews

[Graham]

Your diction is quite beautiful at times, which is always a joy to read. You have a turn of phrase that also is quite beautiful,
' irregular and chaotic ovals offering nothing to signify order or reason'
'A companion that offered no companionship'
Beautiful, and poetic!
But let down at times, ie
'It looked as some poor figurine crafted of clay formed by an amateur sculptor, flawed and hollow.'
(A malformed figure, an untimely birth, flawed and hollow,. (perhaps, forgive my presumption))

Very fine writing, a real wordsmith in the making, i really enjoyed reading this. A little work is needed, but hey, that's why we're all here. If something sounds too long or awkward, it probably is. Listen to your words and find that rythm you so freely demonstrate. If you can use 10 words instead of twenty, then you probably should.