They don't want to come out. They just want to watch.
Then, the breathing stopped.
The old house didn’t creak; it breathed. A low, wet rasp that seemed to emanate from the very wallpaper. Elias told himself it was just the wind, just the settling of ancient timber. He clung to logic like a shield as he walked down the hallway, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. the eyes horror
To see them is to know fear. To have them see you is to be consumed. They don't want to come out