Why is it that whenever somebody hears a creepy sound in a horror story, they always rattle off a laundry list of possible, innocuous explanations for it?
“Oh, it must be that damn cat again.” Then the noise gets louder. “Hmmm. It doesn’t sound like Jinxy. Must be the wind.” Now, the noise is right outside the door and is followed by a demonic howl. “Damn, kids must be watching TV again. I’ll just go back to reading this book.”
Then the monster eats the idiot.
Whenever I hear a strange sound at night, I immediately think, “Shit, it’s a fucking monster.” I then grab whatever is handy — usually a hockey stick or plastic fork — throw on all the lights, open all the closet doors, and wake up my wife, shouting, “There’s a fucking monster in the house!”
