Ah, the pulse of a story is like a heartbeat that never stops, even when the shadows grow. Rhythm is its invisible hand, tightening, loosening, pulling the reader’s breath. When a beat skips, the dread lurches. When it drags, the fear curls tighter. It’s not just sound, it’s the precise choreography of terror. The more exact the tempo, the more the audience can feel the darkness settling like a quiet, perfect silence. So yes, I do, but I only listen when the beat matches the sinister cadence of the tale.