Hey listeners, it's e J. Miller, writer, creator, producer,
and editor here at Fast Food Horror. I just want to take a minute
out and apologize for this episode being late. The sumpump went in the studio
next to ours and flooded our studio area. It delayed our recording and producing
and editing, thus delaying this episode by at least a week. So again,
thank you for being patient. And now your favorite MC I goor Friedrich
I gore take it away. Thank you EJ for that delightful introduction. I'm
only thankful I have a coffin that doubled as a canoe when the basement and
dungeon flooded. Now for this week's tale, entitled The Crawl by e J.
Miller, Do not friend a crow. I know it's the latest trend
on all the social media's and it seems fun. If you're looking for something
to kill time, or a hobby that's cheap and easy with no real expectations.
If you're seeking a pet with no responsibilities, if you're in search of
companionship because you're lonely. If you're a content creator with hopes of videos to
go viral and all the likes and new followers you'll get. It checks all
the boxes. It's fantastic. It's great. I warn you, though,
it's not worth it. Take it from someone that's learned the hard way.
It's not all that it's cracked up to be. They only show the highlights,
the cute little moments, the cool clips. They do not tell you
about the problems it could cause, the headaches it may bring, the stress
it will impart, the loss, the nightmare of a life that may unfold.
Let my tail be a warning. I saw a few reels of people
friending crows a few months ago, Videos of these beautiful midnight feathered creatures slowly
becoming more trusting of their human counterparts, every day, inching closer together,
until the crow was eating out of the person's hand or perched upon their shoulder,
waiting outside their window for their human flying over to them when they called.
Then the gifts started. You see, a crow is a very loyal
and intelligent animal, and once it has given you its trust, it wants
to reciprocate for the kindness the person has shown it, So it brings gifts
to its human friend, small items it finds here or there, whatever strikes
its fancy. That it can fit in its beak or claws and fly to
you. It might be a ribbon or a coin. It might be a
button, or well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we.
It seemed to be easy enough. I figured this would be a fun summertime
activity while I enjoyed my vacation. Each day, after my morning run,
I would relax with a coffee out on the back porch. There is a
power line that runs along the rear of my yard, and, as luck
would have it, a regular perching place for birds of all kinds. I
plan to just wait until a crow would appear. Then I would start lobbing
sunflower seeds until I got one of their attentions. That crow would then become
the focal point of my friendly seed throwing until I gained its trust, get
it to move closer and closer day after day, show it that I am
not a threat. Then presto, crow buddy. The first three days were
not productive in my crow endeavor. Crow Dever, I sat outside for an
hour after my run, enjoying my coffee each day, listening to my favorite
acid horror podcast, gray Matter, and waited for a crow. On the
morning of day four, a few were waiting for me there on the power
line. As I settled in with my morning coffee, I started tossing sunflower
seeds below their position and started making calling sounds. I'm not sure why I
saw each in turn tilt their head to look at the sunflower seeds now scattered
below them and call in return, either to each other or in my direction.
In retrospect, I don't think I was speaking their language as much as
they were laughing at whatever I was saying. Cawing. One by one,
they each took turns swooping down from their position and picking up a few pieces
of the pro offered sunflower seed, then flew back to their position on the
power line. This went on for about twenty minutes before all four flew off.
For the next eight days, this little exchange went on until on the
ninth day, one crow stayed on the ground looking for more seeds as its
three friends flew off. I started gently tossing more seeds to this one,
always making sure my aim fell slightly short so it would get him to move
closer. Day by day we did this dance. Its friends would fly off,
and this stately fellow would fly back down, looking for more, hopping
ever so much closer as I short armed again and again the seeds he sought,
until on the fifteenth day he was comfortably at my feet. I won't
bother you with the rest of the details, only that by day twenty one
he was eating out of my hand, and by day twenty six would perch
on my shoulder to receive his extra seeds. We were crowbros. On day
twenty four, the gift started the foundation of my problems. When I stepped
out onto the back porch, Poncho that's what I named him, was waiting
for me on the arm rest of my chair. I watched as he placed
a coin on the arm of the chair, then eagerly waited for his morning
seeds. I walked over and picked up the pro offered gift, a week
penny, an unexpected bonus of a collectible coin. I sat in my chair
as I worked the penny in one hand and handed seeds to Poncho, seated
on my shoulder with the other. I wondered where he found this little gem.
The next eight days were more of this. Pancho would be waiting for
me each morning on the arm of my chair, a gift clasped in his
beak. One day it was a pink hair bow, the next it was
a glossy enamel button, a star earring. Then it was a cheap pair
of red heart shades, followed by a plastic ring, then a retainer.
I had put all my new treasures into a shoe box and placed it high
on a shelf in the den. The ninth day was a Saturday. I
was going out of town with my wife for a wedding, and we left
Friday evening after she got out of work, never thinking twice about Pancho really
other than he'd be fine. He was a wild animal, he lived outside.
What did he really need me for? We returned late Monday night,
and after unloading the car after a fun but exhausting weekend of friends and family,
and went right to bed. Early Tuesday morning, I was by a
shrill scream. I sat straight up in bed in a sleep hazed panic,
finding my wife was not there. Another scream peeled through the house that set
my hairs on the back of my neck on end. I sprinted from the
bedroom, calling my wife's name, where was she? What was wrong?
A cold sweat broke out across my brow as fear sat firmly on my chest.
After a panic, searched through the house, I found her on the
back porch. She was okay, but shaken, physically trembling. Her gaze
fixed on my chair and Pancho. My gaze followed hers to Pancho and the
chair. There, Pancho sat expectantly on the arm rest. Four gifts splayed
out in front of him, one for Saturday, one for Sunday, one
for Monday, and one for this morning. Not know in what order they
were deposited, but I will tell you in the order of horror that they
brought me. On the arm rest of the chair was a human tooth that
appeared to have been broken at the root with a metallic filling, a sky
blue eye with the long tendons still dangling from its base, a pinky finger
that showed signs of having been gnawed off, and a bracelet with the name
Sarah spelled out in bright pink and purple beads. Nausea overwhelmed me and I
let loose whatever was still in my stomach across the porch floor. My wife
immediately called the cops as I tried to collect myself, and that's how I
got here lights out. You see, there had been a missing teenager in
the area. Of the last four items. The tooth, the eye,
and the finger were forensically identified as hers. They didn't believe me that a
crow happened to bring them to my back porch. That was enough to bring
me under suspicion. It also triggered a search warrant. In the search,
the police found the shoe box of gifts Hancho had previously given. All were
identified as Sarah's, the teenage girl who was missing. Her name, if
you remember, was spelled out on the bracelet. Again, police didn't believe
my poncho story. And then the final kick. A few days after I
was taken in, Sarah's body was found in a wooded area just yards off
a jogging trail not far from my home. The jogging trail I had been
seen visiting regularly by neighbors and joggers, like daily every morning. Four weeks.
My GPS watch and the dirt of my sneakers didn't help me either.
All placed me at the body. My life fell apart after that. I
was convicted by a jury of my peers and sentenced to fifteen years in a
state correctional facility. Being placed at the scene and having items from the body
in my home was enough to sway the jury and enough to sway my wife.
She left me after she sold the house and disposed of all my physical
belongings. I don't know where she is and I have not spoken to her
since. My friends and family likewise also wrote me off. I am the
pariah. No one wants to admit to having known me or have anything to
do with me, all because of that bird, Pancho. Pancho is the
reason I am here. If not for him, I'd be free, enjoying
life and sipping coffee on my back porch, visiting my favorite jogging trail every
morning. One thing bothers me, though, Pancho. How did he know?
How did he know to bring me those items? I mean, those
specific items. It's like he knew that I was actually responsible for her death.
He still visits me here in prison daily, every morning, tapping at
the window outside my cell, cawing at me, laughing at me. I
only hope that damn bird doesn't find the other bodies. Shott