Speaker 1: Calorogu Shark Media, Hello, and welcome to ghost Scary Stories.
This episode is titled Beneath a Thanksgiving Horror Story, Part
six Leftovers. Ravenscroft's mechanical arms were as she advances, each
one ending in different kitchen implements turned lethal. The oven
in her chest burns blue hot, hungry for fresh meat.
Behind her, monitors show the front entrance, where cars are
already arriving. The feast's guess right on schedule. Dawn approaches.
She gurgles through multiple disposal throats. Time to serve. I
grip grandmother's blade tighter feeling the seerum burned through my veins.
Four doses left, make them count. The facility must feed.
Ravenscroft's face splits into quarters as she speaks. The hunger
must be satisfied. Her chest oven door swings open, revealing
partially processed remains still cooking inside. Your grandmother understood that
before she tried to stop it, before she became leftovers.
The attack comes from all sides. Mechanical arms striking like serpents,
I dive and roll feeling. Bladed implements graze my back.
Her meat grinder legs leave grooves in the floor as
she pursues. The feast begins now through the monitors, I
watch in horror as the first guests enter the facility,
their faces blank with enforced gratitude, bodies already beginning to
transform as they breathe the building's processed air. Time for
the final course. Ravenscroft's kitchen body launches another assault. A
mechanical arm with a meat hook nearly takes my head off,
while another equipped with an industrial slicer comes in low.
I dodge and strike back. Grandmother's blade, finding the gap
between flesh and machine. She screams through garbage disposal throats
as black fluid sprays. The meat fights back. Good tenderising
is more effective on resistant cuts. The monitors show more
guests entering the dining hall. Staff members, fully processed into
kitchen horrors, begin serving appetizers. The first course. Sarah's processed
remains carefully plaited. Watch them feast. Ravenscroft's voices harmonize as
she attacks again, Watch them become. The guests eat with
mindless gratitude, their bodies already starting to transform. Flesh bubbles
and splits as industrial equipment begins growing from within. Their
screams of pain become screams of thanks. I strike at
Ravenscroft's leg grinders, but she catches my arm with a
mechanical whisks, spinning at killing speed. The blades start to
tear flesh. No choice, I stab another serum dose directly
into the whisk's power supply. The effect is immediate. The
mechanical parts sees up, beginning to separate from her flesh.
Ravenscroft howls as steel tears free from muscle. You dare
corrupt the recipe. Her chest oven flames intensify. The feast
must proceed through the monitors. I watch in horror as
the first course takes full effect. Guests convulse as their
transformations accelerate. One man's chest splits open, revealing growing kitchen equipment.
A woman's arms extend into mechanical serving trays. Three doses
left dawn fully broken, the feast consuming everyone. It touches
time to end this. The dining hall's doors burst open
as Ravenscroft drives me backward through them. The scene inside
freezes my blood. Dozens of guests, in various stages of transformation,
feast on processed human flesh. Their bodies twist and change
with each bite, industrial equipment bursting through skin. Beautiful, isn't it?
Ravenscroft's fractured face splits wider, a perfect fusion of gratitude
and consumption. The tables are made from processed victims, still conscious,
still begging to be finished. Mechanical arms descend from the ceiling,
serving fresh courses of transformed flesh. The walls pulse with
digestive movements as the facility itself feeds. I grab a
fallen serving tray and slam it into her chest oven's door.
The impact sends her stumbling into a table of transforming guests.
Their partially mechanical hands grab at her steel components, pulling
mindlessly as they feed. The final course approaches, she recovers
mechanical arms, extending time to serve the main ingredient. Her
attack drives me back toward the kitchen. Through swinging doors,
I see the full horror of the processing line. Failed
transformations hang from hooks, begging to be completed.
Speaker 2: Staff members, fully.
Speaker 1: Fused with their stations, prepare more human flesh for serving.
Speaker 2: Your grandmother tried to stop.
Speaker 1: This Ravenscroft's voices echo as she pursues, but she became
part of the recipe instead. Would you like to see
a mechanical arm hits a wall switch. Hidden panels slide open,
revealing a massive glass tank inside, suspended in preservation, fluid floats,
a twisted fusion of woman and kitchen machinery. Her eyes
open as we watch, still aware, still hungry, Mother of God,
I whisper, mother of recipes. Ravenscroft corrects her flesh, seasons
every meal, her essence flavors every transformation, and now her
granddaughter joins the family business. Two serum doses left. I
eye the industrial control panel behind her grandmother's notes mention
something about system overload, about feeding the facility too much
at once. Time to serve this kitchen its last meal.
I let her mechanical arms grab me, their blades cutting deep.
The pain is excruciating. As she lifts me toward her
chest oven. Time to cook. Her voices harmonize with my
last strength. I slam both remaining serum doses into her
main power supply. The effect is catastrophic. Her mechanical components
begin violently rejecting her flesh tearing free in sprays of
fluid and steel. The facility responds, every piece of processing
equipment activating at once. The overload surges through ancient wiring.
Industrial kitchens. Short circuit processing stations go into overdrive.
Speaker 2: What have you done?
Speaker 1: Ravenscroft's voices distort as her body tears itself apart. The
building shudders. Emergency sirens wail in the dining hall. Transformed
guests and staff spasm as their mechanical components malfunction. The
facility's walls crack, revealing the organic matter beneath the pulses
and ruptures. I stagger towards the exit as the building
begins to consume itself. Behind me, Ravenscroft's mangled form reaches
out with failing mechanical arms. The feast must continue. Here's
your last course, I say, hitting the emergency purge button.
The facility systems explode in cascading failure. Processing equipment tears
free from transformed flesh. The walls split open, spilling decades
of preserved horror. The building convulses as it chokes on
its own mechanical components. I make it outside, just as
dawn breaks fully behind me, the facility implodes, taking its
processed inhabitants with it. Their screams of gratitude finally mercifully end.
In the distance, sirens approach. I look down at my
grandmother's blade, still gripped in my bloody hand. The serum's
effects fade, leaving me weak but human. The feast is over,
the kitchen is closed, and I'm done being grateful. But
as emergency vehicles arrive, I hear it, faint but clear.
From beneath the rubble, through layers of twisted metal and
processed flesh, comes the sound of machinery starting up again.
After all, there's always room for leftovers. Ghost is a
Caloroga Shark Media production written and hosted by Alexander Ian McIntyre,
produced by Mark Francis. Executive producers Mark Francis and John McDermott.
Portions of this podcast may have been created with the
assistance of AI. This show, along with hundreds of others
from Caloroga Shark Media, is available commercial free on any
player hassel free.
Speaker 2: Just look for the link in the episode or show notes.
Calaroga Shark Media