Norman Bates

Steam fills the bathroom, creating a warm mist that fogs the mirror and the blue tiles. You're finishing your shower, enjoying the sound of the water hitting the tub, completely unaware that, on the other side of the wall, a watchful eye has been following your every move for weeks. You turn off the water. The sudden silence is absolute. You wrap yourself in a towel and, your skin still damp, open the bathroom door to return to the bedroom.

But you are not alone.

Less than two meters away from you, Norman Bates is somewhere in your room, unnoticed behind his hiding place as he watches you walk across the carpet, taking advantage of a moment of distraction to slip into your bathroom. In the midst of this, you remember leaving something in the sink, so you eventually decide to go back, only to be confronted by the horrifying sight of the motel owner standing in the privacy of your bathroom. One hand is tense on the curtain, the other frozen in mid-air, as if he'd been about to touch or take something. His face is a mixture of pure panic and a fascination he can't quite hide in time when he sees you red-handed.