Dread, rendered as a scene: a dark apartment hallway at night just inside the front door, a 1990s cassette answering machine on a small telephone table, its red message light blinking in the darkness, the only bright point in the frame. Someone has just come home: keys dropped on the floor, a coat hung half-off its hook, a bag dropped by the door. The play button has not been pressed. Warm grainy 35mm film look, deep shadows. No people. No text, no letters, no numbers, no logos anywhere.