My printer hates me so I'm posting this.
Suspense Paragraphs
After the operation, Lee Howitzer went to his car and took the bottle from the glove compartment, the celebration of another months rent in his pocket. The operation was flawless, and the job was done. Lee would have to take the cooler to the valley to get paid. The street light draped a dim orange blanket over the tattered wall of the building were he did the procedure. It was old, dirty, and rotten. The neighbourhood, at night, was bereft of any human activity. He could hear the cats getting into the garbage cans, and being chased away by the racoons, leaving a quite rustling that only made the night colder. He sent Jerry, his friend that agreed to help out with the job, a text letting him know that he was finished and he could pick up the body. He was to wake up in his own bed the next morning. All that non-sense about waking up in a tub of ice was just Hollywood bullshit. Lee started the car and backed out of the parking lot. He noticed headlights coming his way, so he pulled into the space directly across from him and shut off his lights. The other car parked a few spaces away. Two men got out and smelled the air. Lee slouched in his chair when he saw them. One man wore a black suit and the other wore a plaid sport jacket. Shit. What are they doing here? This place is supposed to be dead. I'm fucked, I'm so fucked. The men walked toward the building, and were sent running back when Jerry pulled in. That reckless fuck couldn't have made more noise. He parked in front of the door, left his car running, and went in to retrieve the body. When he was inside, the strange men got out and approached his car. Lee grabbed the cooler and snuck out to the vacant beetle that the two men had arrived in. He put the cooler in the passenger seat, and pealed out, nearly running them over. He watched the men chase after him in his mirror as Jerry dumped the body into the trunk and sped off.
Lindsay laid as still as she could, in her bed. She could feel the presence in the kitchen. Each minute past in slow motion, an eternity going by in one night. All of her will and power was concentrated on not making a single sound or movement. Her eyes grew heavy, and a soft, soothing noise entered her head. Suddenly she was wrapped in linen, and floating down a river into a strolling dream-A Creak- and she was back in her bedroom, her muscles holding perfectly still, the blood in her veins frozen solid. The presence in the kitchen moved slowly into the hallway and stopped in front of her door. She shut her eyes, and tried to will herself back down the river, to be away from this place, to send whatever was in her house away. But she was paralysed, and could do nothing but wait for whatever was in the hall to-A Squeak-the door knob turned, and her heart stopped.
She couldn't look away. Who could? The closet was opening and shutting on it's own, thanks to the poltergeist, who's existence she was now positive of. Before today, she was in a state of denial about the ghost, but there was no denying it now. Now that the problem was clear, the solution was simple. She'd have to move. Then she heard a series of clicks as every lock in the house latched shut.
Dixon Shea
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