A fun topic of conversation for my extended family during a really terrific Mother's Day on Sunday is how I hate the wind chimes my mom has hanging outside by the backyard patio. Wanna know why? Because there is nary a horror movie made where the sound of wind chimes combined with a sweeping panorama of a dark, windy night doesn't spell impending murder.
Maybe it's Pavlovian. By themselves, wind chimes seem perfectly innocent. A little breeze translated into a little music...tra la la. Repeateldy seeing a person get slashed wide open after hearing a wind chime tends to change one's perspective on how innocuous that sound is. Now, when I hear wind chimes, I don't hear music...I hear, "Get the hell out of wherever you are now."
The unwitting victims in many a horror flick seem incapable of figuring out that the guy in the hockey mask with a bloody meat cleaver is not a friendly neighbor who butchered a steak for you. He's a psychotic murderer who just killed a hot teenager.
Similarly, many members of my family seem unaware of what those chimes are chimin when the breeze picks up. It's not music. It's a serious warning.
Now you all know.
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