A Better Performance

You wanted something better... something with true dramatic weight. So I stepped into the dim shadows near the wooden side table, where the vintage telephone sits. I did not strike mindlessly. I crept up behind the heavy brass receiver, tilted my head, and tapped the coiled cord with the blunt tip of my prop knife. It stretched, springing back with a sharp, rhythmic ping against the polished wood. A slow, chilling cadence. Every suspenseful scene requires tension before the curtain falls. Now, the stage is properly set.