He couldn’t shake the feeling. Something, or someone, hated him with a burning passion. Only out of the corner of his eye could he see anything worth seeing, and what he saw was highly suspect. Was it a trick of the light, the consequence of having too-sensitive peripheral vision? Or was there really something there, looking at him?
Finally he concluded that it didn’t matter either way. But he just couldn’t look away from the things–or look elsewhere. Something in what he saw held a power over him. It could have been fascination, or some meaning rooted deep in his subconscious.
He wasn’t too fond of the things he was semi aware of.
Still, he found it very hard to look away.
As if paralyzed.