But this time, when Adrian rang the doorbell, the door didn't open. The house was completely silent.
He rang it again. And again.
Finally, after a long, awkward wait, a woman's voice called from inside, "Who is it?"
"Madam, I'm the piano tuner! Adrian!"
"My husband isn't home," the voice called back. "You can come another day."
"Oh, that's okay, ma'am," Adrian said. "I don't need your husband to be here to tune the piano."
"It's fine, you can go. We will still pay you for your visit."
"Ma'am, the money isn't the problem," Adrian said, starting to get a little annoyed. "I'm a blind person. It took me a lot of effort to get here. You didn't cancel the appointment, and it's very disrespectful to not even open the door! Are you... are you discriminating against me because I'm blind?"
He said it angrily and rang the doorbell one more time, hard.
Finally, the closed door creaked open.
A middle-aged woman, maybe 40 or 50 years old, stood there. Adrian, of course, was still in his "blind" character. He pretended not to see her, but inside, he felt a little flash of pride. See? he thought. The "discriminating against the blind" line always works.
But what happened next made Adrian wish he had never rung that bell.
The moment he stepped inside, his foot slipped on something wet, and he fell hard onto the floor.
The floor wasn't just wet. It was covered in blood. Bright red blood. His hands were in it. He looked up, and his heart stopped.
An old, dead man was lying stiffly on the sofa. His mouth was open, and his eyes were wide.
Adrian was terrified. But he couldn't scream. He couldn't do anything. He had to pretend he saw nothing. He was blind. He kept telling himself that, acting like he knew nothing.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" the woman said with a fake, shaky smile. "Our house is being renovated. I... I just knocked over a can of... paint. Red paint. That's why I didn't want to let you in. Here, let me help you up."
She grabbed his arm. "Oh, your clothes are all stained with the... paint. You can change. I'll get you some of my husband's clothes."
Adrian was panicking. Murder! This isn't paint! This is a murder scene! And the murderer was, without a doubt, the woman standing right in front of him.
...
Back in the real movie theater, the whole audience gasped. "Sir..." Zane's assistant, Alexander, whispered, his voice tense. Zane just put a calm hand on his arm. "Stay calm," he whispered back. "It's just a movie."
Not far away, a 20-year-old guy in the audience cursed quietly. "What is this idiot doing? Run! Why is he just sitting there? Is he waiting to be killed?"
A girl nearby whispered back, "Why should he run? He's a strong young guy. She's just an older woman. He could totally take her."
"That's right!" another man laughed. "This must be an action movie! He's going to fight her, be a hero, and get praised by the police!"
Many people in the audience agreed with this.
But... the movie didn't do that. The audience was stunned.
Adrian didn't run. He didn't fight. He chose to ignore it. This was, without a doubt, the most foolish choice!
He just sat down at the piano, trying to breathe, his heart pounding. "Calm down," he thought to himself. "Don't panic! You're blind. You see nothing. She has no idea you know. Your performance is perfect. You could win an Oscar for this."
"Who is the dead guy on the sofa?" he thought. "Her husband? Wait... she said she'd get me her husband's clothes. Why is it taking so long? Well... maybe she's picking out a nice one? That's good, right?"
"Man," he told himself, "just get dressed, tune this broken piano, and leave."
He was just starting to feel a tiny bit better when... Oh, no. "Darn it! My notepad! It's in my jacket pocket! Why would a blind man need a notepad? Darn it!!!"
He was panicking all over again.
Just then, the middle-aged woman walked up quietly behind him. She stood there, perfectly still, holding a nail gun in her hand. She was less than a foot away from the back of Adrian's head.
Adrian was frozen in fear. Don't look back. You're blind. You can't see her. You can't look back.
In the end, he was just too scared to stand up. He stayed silent... and began to play the piano with his shaky, blood-stained hands.
One person was playing the piano. The other was holding a nail gun. The scene was so creepy!
END!
...
Suddenly, the film was over! That was it.
The audience was in an uproar. "What?!" "That's the ending?!" "Guys... so... did the main character die in the end?!"
Everyone was talking about it. They also remembered seeing another woman across the hall watching him as he went in... what did she have to do with it?
Of course, this wasn't the time for questions. After a second of stunned silence, the entire theater stood up and burst into applause!
Director Zane Blackwood, the actor Paul Walker, and the main crew members walked onto the stage, smiling and waving.
"Young man, congratulations!" said Gilles Jacob, the President of the Cannes Film Festival. He rushed over to shake Zane's hand, his eyes full of praise. "You have made a very good film."
Martin Scorsese, the head judge, also smiled. "Mr. Blackwood, a great movie. Really great."
All the other filmmakers at the party also congratulated Zane on his excellent short film.
"Mr. Blackwood! I'm a reporter from the Cannes Biweekly!" a man shouted, rushing up to Zane. "May I ask you... was the man in the film killed at the end?"
"Mr. Blackwood! I'm a reporter from 'French Spiegel'!" another yelled. "I also want to ask! Did the protagonist die?"
All the reporters were shouting the same question. Did Adrian die or not?
In fact, Zane had no idea!
He had copied the movie perfectly from the system. (He had added that one little ad for LinkedIn, but that was it!)
But he wasn't going to tell them that. He just smiled a charming, mysterious smile.
Judging by how excited everyone was, The Tuner was a huge success.
That night, and the next morning, all the local newspapers were filled with stories about the amazing short film... and about Zane.
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