Hey guys, eja here. I'm the writer and producer here at Fast Food
Horror. If you'll notice, I did not say the only voice here at
Fast Food Horror. Last episode we welcomed Holly into our family of voices,
and this week we welcome Chris Branham. Chris is a very talented voice actor,
as you will soon hear, and I was over the moon excited when
he agreed to lend his voice talents to us here at Fast Food Horror.
Secondly, the story you're about to hear touches home in a very different kind
of way. You see, back in the nineties, I worked at rit
I was an undercover security officer there on campus. My duties were to walk
the tunnels. So there is far more to this tale than just my imagination.
So now, without any further delay, I go, Frederick. It's
all yours. Welcome listeners to another episode of Fast Food Horror. In this
episode, a young security officer encounters something in a tunnel he was not prepared
for. In this tale, entitled The Tunnels by E. J. Miller
and narrated by Christopher Branham, Rochester is a beautiful city in central New York.
The summers and falls are lovely. The springs are what you might call
temperamental, though fluctuating between dreary and cold, the warm and sunny, with
a smattering of whatever snow is left over in Mother Nature's grab bag. Winter,
well it's the north. They can get very cold, very cold,
with high winds and single digit temperatures and snow. Well, let's just say
we get our share. Keeping this in mind, the developers of ri Rochester
Institute of Technology built tunnels under the campus, going from one building to another.
Miles of protected hallways underground, keeping the faculty and students protected from the
illments as they traversed between campus buildings and residence halls. Some are well lit
and decorated with murals from students present and past. Some of the tunnels,
however, have long been forgotten. There are nothing more than dark concrete basement
ant chambers, storage rooms, between hallways, a tangle of steam pipes and
wires. How do I know all this? In the nineties I was employed
by the college as an undercover security officer to walk the tunnels at night from
ten pm till six am. Due to my special skill set, which was
I was in my early twenties and could pass for an undergrad. The day
before I started, I went in for my orientation. It was done by
a campus police sergeant Mills, a nice sky years away from retirement, pot
bellied and gray haired. He provided me with a small flashlight walkie talking that
I was instructed to keep in my backpack at all times so it as not
to attract attention, a map of the tunnels so I didn't get lost,
and a very discreet wand like instrument that was to be scanned at different checkpoint
chips along the tunnel so the campus police could monitor my progress and make sure
I wasn't secreted away in a room taking a nap somewhere. Most nights were
easy, just walking the tunnels, scan the various checkpoint chips, redirect lost
freshmen, report back to the base any rowdy activity that may laid to an
issue, vandalism, whatnot? What I hadn't bargained for, What wasn't part
of orientation? Was it? The runner I usually got Sundays off campus was
pretty quiet those nights anyways, but the powers that be wanted extra security the
weekend of Halloween. I'm not saying college students need a reason to party,
but it was a holiday and things can get extra weird on campus during Halloween.
I entered the tunnels backpack slung over my shoulder, not far from Thekate
Gleeson Hall, the southeast corner of the campus, and me entered my way
through the tunnels, checking in on the alcove and small ant chambers unused rooms.
I followed the progression of foot traffic when I found it. Following the
noise of revelers and partiers is to see where everyone was congregating, checked the
dark corners for anything out or out of place. At about three in the
morning, things got quiet, just like every other night for the past six
months. I could go a while before I pumped into somebody. At this
point, For long stretches, it was just me and the dimly lit corridors
under the campus. The shadows, the dripping of pipes makes everything very eerie.
For my sleep deprived of mind, and here I was again for the
first time on Sunday, near James Booth Hall. One of the doors under
the tunnels must have been opened. I could hear the whistling of the wind
from somewhere down the corridor, adding to the RDY creepy feel, all the
more reason to keep my pace and get this night over. Focusing straight ahead,
I could see the intersection of two tunnels off in the distance, where
one of my many checkpoints would be. I kept moving forward. Then I
heard it. I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but I could
hear rapid footsteps coming from the intersection. Not sure if it was coming from
straight ahead or from the right tunnel or the left, but they were getting
closer. Someone was running. The lights illuminating the hall at the intersection began
to flicker, like a strobe light at a club, pulsating to some as
yet unheard beat. The wind that had been whistling faintly from the distance picked
up in strength and began to push much older air, lowering the temperature in
the tunnel so much I could see my breath. And then I saw it.
I called it in because I'm not sure if it was pam R,
but it definitely looked human, A dark shadow like figure jogging from left to
right, maybe five ten thinly built. It stopped in the middle of the
intersection, pumping its legs in rapid succession. It looked in one direction,
still jogging calmly in place, and then it turned and looked right at me,
like it was trying to figure me out, trying to figure out why
I was there. Did you ever see a picture with a smug the whole
photo in perfect focus except for that one spot that was smeared. You could
see what it was, but the detail it wasn't recognizable distorted. This was
like that. The runner's face was blurred, but the rest of its form
was clearly defined as much as a shadow could be, and its eyes,
its eyes glowing a fierce red, looking intently, stared at me. A
chill went running up my spine. I could feel the goosebumps rising on my
arms, and every voice in my head said run. It turned its body
towards me and stopped its jogging. It stood stock still. I called out
hello, my voice echoing off the old concrete walls. It cocked its head
slightly to the right. I could hear a slight crackling sound as it bent
its neck, and then it let out a shriek, an ear piercing,
fierce cry of pain. Then it turned down the right tunnel and disappeared from
my view. I raced down the tunnel, running to the intersection, wondering
if I saw what I saw. I skipped to a stop at the intersection
and looked down the right tunnel and nothing. There was nothing but emptiness of
the tunnel. The light wasn't flickering, the cold wind now back to its
normal DeVault faint whistle, the temperature returned back to where it was before before
it and I was alone. Alone. I lost track of time. How
long had I stood there? Seconds? Minutes, tearing down that empty tunnel,
replaying what I had seen? Who would believe me? Would I even
tell? My thoughts were broken? When I heard three footfalls, I felt
something clamp hard over my shoulder from behind, spun me forcefully around. I
closed my eyes tight, not wanting to see it, waiting to hear the
blood curdling scream. I braced myself and I heard a growl, well more
like a gruff clearing of one's throat, and forced myself to open my eyes.
It wasn't it. It was Sergeant Mills. Before I could say anything,
he just raised one open balm and said, and now you've seen it
too. No