Through the black of endless night,
A figure moves just out of sight.
A whisper, a breath, a fleeting trace,
Yet never seen—no form, no face.

Eyes like embers, burning red,
A ghost that walks where shadows tread.
No sound it makes, no step, no sigh,
Until it’s near—then death is nigh.

You turn, you spin—was something there?
A creeping chill, a frozen stare.
The air feels thick, your heart beats fast,
You pray this night will be your last.

For when you flee, it reappears,
Just at your back—it feeds on fears.
A hunter born from dark’s embrace,
A nightmare none can hope to face.

Yet light may grant a fleeting breath,
A shield against impending death.
The sun will burn, the flames will bite,
It shrinks, it fades—it fears the light.

So keep the torches burning bright,
Hold close the dawn, resist the night.
For in the dark, beyond your sight,
The Stalker waits... to end your light.