#suspense?

so we figure maybe it’s a different siren for some other kind of situation??

like... it can’t be a severe weather alert from the rainstorms that we’ll probably have when the hurricane comes up this way, because it’s too early for that and the earlier storm already passed, but still i’m looking at the national weather service website and there’s nothing for our area yet

and husband goes and listens outside and nope... “it’s coming from inside the house” like the call in the horror movie or whatever

so we check in the various parts of the house and upstairs etc

and it’s loudest near the area under the stairs where we collect the recycling

and there’s no way the recycling should be sounding an alert

but

i look in there and... 

the recycling bin is amplifying the sound of husband’s discarded ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH that somehow switched itself back on 

so i’m grasping the door jamb while howling with laughter and relief, and husband goes “Nata! don’t die from a toothbrush!”

While he considered himself a professional, the hypnotist was not necessarily acknowledged as such by the people around him. It mattered little, however, after each performance. And recognized professional or not, he was the best at what he did. Hypnotism was his only tool and he had learned to use it well.

The hypnotist called himself The Manufacturer. It was not a particularly inspiring title, but in his mind it got the point across. He could manufacture thoughts, actions, habits, memories, and ideas in the minds of his subjects. Some suggested that he could not change a person permanently or override their inherent will or desires, but The Manufacturer believed otherwise.

It became a mission for the hypnotist. To alter the mind entirely. To create a new person from a pre-existing model. And while he shared this goal with no one, his acts and performances grew more dramatic. His one-on-one remedial sessions more invasive.

A woman at a show left with an itch on her left shoulder. It would stop when she pressed her thumb and her pointer finger together, but would return an hour later. A man walked away from a session with a desire to leave the state. The thought nagged at him for weeks. Months. And then he finally did. He could not recall what had sparked this desire.

Weeks later, a young man from a group session The Manufacturer ran attempted to rob a bank. He claimed that he had been planning to do so for months. Years even. The Manufacturer followed the event closely. He was pleased with the results, but wanted more.

In his private sessions there was a man who was looking to quit smoking. The Manufacturer noted that he did not have many friends. He worked out and ate well. The man spoke about a new job he had found as a bartender. He said he was meeting new people and expanding his horizons.

The Manufacturer whittled that away first. The bar was noisy. The people boring. There was nothing there for the man. Next, The Manufacturer focused on the diet. The health routine. Both suffered under his careful probing and suggestion. The gym was forgotten. The man began to lose touch with the friends he did have, as The Manufacturer fiddled inside his brain.

The man continued to smoke. Curing a smoking habit was too simplistic for The Manufacturer. It gave the man a reason to keep coming back. And so he did. Week after week. Month after month. He learned to play the piano. He stopped liking cats. He read up on computers and threw out the screenplay he had been writing. He bought a motorcycle and dyed his hair. He cut his family out of his life and quit his job.

When the police found The Manufacturer’s body, they did not have to search long to find their suspect. The arrest was made quickly and the trial was uneventful. The man did not attempt to hide what he had done. Nor was he able to explain why he did it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls. All I could do was sit quietly under this desk, trying to hold my breath.

Tap, tap, tap.

All of the echos make it hard to tell how close they are. I cower down further, tightening the ball that I already sat in. My hands cover my mouth, my breathing in quick bursts.

Tap, tap, tap.

It's become so quiet that I can hear ringing in my ears...I hate this, but if they find me, who knows what they'll do.

Tap, tap, tap.

They told me it was just trees and the wind. I bet they wish they had listened to me before. I bet they would have done things differently.

Tap, tap, clink.

They're here. I need to stay quiet. Whatever they do, I cannot move. I cannot breathe. I must stay silent.

They haven't moved. Please leave, please move. I need to breathe, but if I do then you'll find me. Please just do something!

Squish

They stepped in the blood. The sound they make when they walk should be different. They don't have any shoes on, so why does their footsteps tap like that?

Squelch, squish, squelch, squish.

That is not human. They are impossibly thin. Walks normal, but similar build to a wendigo.

Need to breathe. Can't...hold...

Gasp

"Tag."

Please...don't look down here...

Pitch black sunken eyes, sunken cheeks, overall dead looking. Its skin, grey, blood stained hands and feet, naked.

I have not seen it sadly. But I’ve heard some amazing things about it? And since I enjoy horror, I do really want to check it out. 

Any of you guys seen it? Do you think I would enjoy it?