[ WP ] Make me terrified of an inanimate object

`` It wo n't stop staring at me.'' She said with a meek voice, her tiny face a twisted mess of fear. He sighed, this was the third time this week alone that she'd been complaining about it. `` It's carved out of wood, it has no eyes, it does n't even have the impressions of eyes. It ca n't be staring at you - we've gone over this.'' They had gone over it many times, she was young but not stupid. Understanding full well that something made of wood can not be alive, or conscious. That's what scared her the most. `` B-but daddy it *is* staring at me, I can feel it, its staring at me right now!'' 
 
 
 He was sat on the edge of her bed, directly behind him was the carven statue of the owl. Its face was flat and geometric, there were no defining facial features other than the shape of its head and the beak. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “ Honey just go back to sleep, I promise you it is n't staring. ” He got up to leave but she grabbed his sleeve. 
 
 “ Please don ’ t leave me here with it... “ she was whispering now, her voice was wavy. She was about to cry. Her eyes were glassy and red around the edges. He hated it when she cried. But this was for her own good, she had to know that believing an owl statue made of wood was dangerous or scary was irrational. “ I ’ ll take it in my room tonight then. I ’ m not afraid of it because there ’ s no reason to be afraid. ” 
 
 
 He stood and walked to the statue which came to his hip. Using both hands he hoisted it, he got it under his right arm and walked away. He turned and said goodnight to his daughter. He pulled the door closed with his free hand and walked down the hall to his own room which was dimly lit with a small table lamp. 
 
 
 He placed the owl down gently near the end of his bed. He climbed back in bed now and read for a few hours, occasionally glancing up at the owl, he did n't even know why he was entertaining the idea of it being alive. It did n't look like it was watching him, it did n't make noise, it did n't move. It was just a statue. Right? *right…* 
 
 
 
 He finished the chapter of his book and marked the page by folding up one of the corners of the page. He placed the book down on the bedside table, taking a last glance at the owl. He thumbed the switch on the base of the lamp. It clicked and he was instantly plunged into darkness. This had been a routine every day occurrence for most of his life, so why did he feel anxious? He guessed his girl ’ s childish and irrational fears were rubbing off on him. For the next hour he forced his eyes closed, he could n't sleep. He felt like *something* would n't let him sleep. He was sweating, the shirt he wore to bed was sticking to his neck. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for some time. After a while this got uncomfortable so he decided to roll over to the right. 
 
 
 
 Panic so pure and thick it stopped his heart for a moment beset him. He had turned, and was met by the grave stare of the carven owl. The room was that furtive dim shade of pure shadow which blocked all vision other than that of the keenest eyesight. But he could still see the glint on the large black orbs which seemed to suck in all the light in the room and to suck in all the light from his soul. He stared at it all night long, into its eyes, there was no way to look away. He could n't move, it was like sleep paralysis. Only he *could* scream, but that was n't an option because his daughter had to know that to be afraid of an owl *statue* was irrational and silly. 
 
 
 At the first light of dawn he put a shirt over the statue ’ s head and took it far far away from their home. He took the shirt from its head, the eyes were gone, just the smooth polished wood of its face. He stared down at it for a minute then cast it into the lake. When he got home his daughter asked where he had gone. He told her he went to sell that statute, when she asked why he simply told her that he thought it was ugly. 
 
 
 
 Every night from then on he would wake in a cold sweat. 
 
 
 
 *I can feel it, its staring at me right now! * 
 
 
 The owls perched on the gnarled and twisted branches of the great oak in the shadowy garden more often now. 
 
 > this is more rushed than I would have liked, I was quite tired but I just wanted to get it done. Sorry for any mistakes!
