Scarbo, the Poltergeist

Scarbo skitters through my bedroom.
A nightmare. Will I wake up soon?
His eyes like burning embers glow,
And how he got in, I don't know.
More sinister than Babadook,
That monster in a pop-up book,
Sometimes he's here, sometimes he's there,
I seem to see him everywhere.
He's had with me a little bet:
Ignore him, the more real he'll get.
He thrives on a disordered mind.
The furniture, he hides behind.
Jumps out when you least expect him,
Throws his voice, makes you respect him.
But then, at last, he disappears.
Why have I feared him all these years?