The presence.

Once on the patio, I give my eyes a moment to adjust before taking slow, cautious steps out onto the drive-way, my eyes flickering across the length of the forest. I stop after a couple of yards and stand still, silent; listening hard and waiting for the presence. For a long while I wait in silence, hearing nothing but the chirp of crickets and tree frogs and the occasional scuffle of a rodent. When suddenly, my stomach fills with dread. I immediately push the feeling into the back of my subconscious and remain alert, so as to resist the urge to run. The familiar prickly sensation returns to my neck. I strain my eyes to detect any movement amongst the trees.

I see nothing, but I know it's here and I know it can see me, standing out here in the open. I can feel it wanting. Waiting. I dismiss the fear from my mind and focus on thinking logically. As my feet grow heavier and my limbs stiffer, I come to a slow stop. The best thing to do, I conclude in cowardice, is to wait here until I feel the presence disappear for the night and go into the forest to look for clues. Like that'll accomplish anything, I sneer internally, when you can't see a damn thing out here.

I fidget nervously, unsure of my next move. I consider calling out to it, but lose my voice every time I open my mouth. At a lose of ideas, I close my eyes and attempt to initiate telepathic communication with the creature. I force my complete and absolute focus toward the cluster of trees and shrub in the distance and hiss urgently in my mind: 'What do you want?'

To my surprise and utter confusion, I find myself answering my own question.

Relief.