“My brain is open,” the man at the door said.
He was a queer-looking fellow, fifty years old, sixty perhaps, in a shabby brown overcoat, carrying nothing but a tatty suitcase. After ringing the doorbell once, without anyone answering, he had rung once more and after that – in sequential order – two times, three, five and eight, until Heinrich had begrudgingly opened the door in his pyjamas.
“My brain is open,” the man repeated.
Read the rest of the tale and 100 more stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.