Disclaimer: The Nazgul, and other things to do with Tolkien, are not mine, although I wish they were.

Fear.
They lap it up.
It’s how they sense you.
How they know that its you that they want.
The stars are veiled.
The garden gate creaks open.
The sliver of an inhuman footstep, barely to be heard.
The swish of a cloak.
They draw their swords,
a clink through the silence
Your worst nightmare
The door creaks open
“in the name of Mordor!”
The shadows enter.