My drain sang a lullaby. I stayed up all night.

I've always held in my mind the definition of the third kind of terror Stephen King gave.  I don't remember the first two, but I remember the third one.

"...when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It's when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there's nothing there...”

That third kind is something I think most horror fans share.

The other night I heard "Things Are Looking Up" coming out of the drain in my bathroom.  It's a nice upbeat song by Billy Holiday.

Horror doesn't seem to be a problem in the wrong context, seen by the right people.  It's when the wrong people show up that things get interesting, the sweet song gets caught in the pipes at three o'clock in the morning, and something turns it bad.  Something starts looking up.