Sound design, strings, percussion
The witch is standing there.
The witch is standing in my hallway. Its late alone. Neck hairs poke on end in crazed pizzicato. A suffocating muffled
crash cymbal hit. Immobile - viola - agitato, sul ponticello. A single snare hit marks time.
To stand still.
Harsh dry wooden sounds creak and scream in the back of my mind, in the basement of the house.
High pitched whine sears the line between knowing and unknowable terror. Heavy sounds like bricks or
leaden chests pound the floor in downstairs. The walls of the hallway splinter apart staccato furioso
and a massive brass-en fanfare sounds a towering tone cluster and awareness vanishes.