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Speaker 1: Fast Food Horror is an Abbey normal production. Hey guys,

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it's EJ. Fast Food Horror is all about short stories,

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bite size if you will. The Shaft, though, is going

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to be a little different. The Shaft is going to

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be told every two weeks until it's completion. We're envisioning

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about an eight chapter series. So I hope you guys

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are ready for a very very spooky good time. I

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go take it away.

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Speaker 2: Welcome listeners to Fast Food Horror. This week we have

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for you The Shaft, Chapter two.

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Speaker 1: I gasped for breath as I awoke, like a drowning man,

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breaking the surface of the water, searching for air. As

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my eyes opened, they focused, and I saw the gray

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gloom of the daytime I remembered was gone, replaced by

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a curtain of night. The only illumination was from the

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surrounding factories and street lights. Thank God for light pollution.

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I was faced down on the ground. I could feel

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earthly material pressing against my cheeks, gravel and stone and

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the unforgiving icy hardness of the pavement, and my clothes

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soaked as the mist had continued to coat the area

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as it was pushed by the cold winter wind. I

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got myself to my feet. I saw I was still

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at the testing site for the road test. In a panic,

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I checked my watch. Eleven thirty three pm. What the hell?

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Almost eight hours had passed. I was out for eight hours?

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Where was the bus? Did they leave me? How did

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my trainee even get back to the terminal without me?

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Speaker 2: Crap?

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Speaker 1: What do I tell my boss she was going to

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be pissed? And what do I tell my wife she

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was going to be more than pissed? Crap?

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Speaker 2: Crap?

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Speaker 1: I needed to call both. Where the hell was my phone?

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I patted myself down, looking for my rectangular friend, and

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then I remembered. Everything came rushing back. I was hanging

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over the shaft well, everything above the shoulders was lowering

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my phone by a string into the inky darkness, and

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then everything went black, and there was a sound just

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before I passed out. I think a cry of something,

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something angry. Wait. I remember being over the shaft before

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the darkness came over me. But when I woke up

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a few seconds ago, my face was on the ground.

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I did a slow rotation of my area and found

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the shaft opening five feet behind me, five feet from

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where I just woke up with my head facing in

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the wrong direction from where it should have been, or

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at least from what I remembered. How did I get here?

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That's a mystery for another day. More importantly, where was

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and how do I get my phone? I started to

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walk over to the shaft opening and saw the spool

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of twine resting on the ground, the twine itself leading

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down the shaft. Well, I guess I know where my

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phone is. I started to pull on the twine and

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felt a light weight at the end of it. I

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pulled and pulled ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet, forty feet,

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and after eight more minutes phone it was still recording,

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flashlight still on. I closed both apps, the main screen

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now staring back at me. My eyes went to the bottom.

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The phone began to pulse as sixty eight new text

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messages began to popul forty three new phone calls registered

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in the bottom counter with voicemails. Apparently the phone was

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so deep it was out of range until now. Well,

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this was not going to be good. I opened up

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the text app, multiple messages from my boss. I started

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to glance through them all. They started with the general

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questions about how the trainee did or was doing to

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why I was not answering, which then led to more

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of a boss like tone, wondering how I could be

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so unprofessional leaving my trainee. I then went to my

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wife's text messages, again where was I, Why was I

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not answering? Some playfulness and flirty texting followed by concern,

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then some heartbreaking messages wondering what she did wrong and

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was I mad? Then just a series of texts asking

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me to please let her know I was okay, well

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that the decision process easy. I immediately called my wife.

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She picked up even before the first ring was over.

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As you can imagine, it took me a while to

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get a word in edgewise. She had been presuming the

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worst for the last few hours. I told her exactly

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what happened, or at least as much as I had

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an understanding of what happened and was willing to admit

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to without sounding crazy, that I was still at the

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testing site, and I shared my location for my phone.

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As soon as I did so I could hear the

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keys in her hand. I asked her if she could

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bring me at least a blanket, that I was cold

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and soaked. I then went into as much detail as

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I could remember, as she drove the forty five minutes

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or so to me, starting with trying to find shelter

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and ending with waking up on the ground eight hours later.

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All in all, she took it well, well, not really,

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because I'm forty nine years old and had lost consciousness

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for a few hours and had been out in the elements.

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She was intent on taking me straight to the hospital.

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I was not going to argue. I saw my phone

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was almost out of battery. A quick glance at her

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GPS location told me she was less than ten minutes away,

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so we ended the call. I'd see her shortly, after all,

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What could happen in ten minutes? I know, famous last words, right?

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I paced around the perimeter of the Jersey barriers, trying

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to wrap my head around this shaft. What was it?

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Where did it lead? What was its purpose? And what

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was that sound that cry? In my distracted, thoughtful pacing.

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I stumbled over the answer to the question I didn't ask,

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and fell to the ground hard. What the hell did

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I stumble over? I got back to my feet and

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walked back three steps and saw it was a handle,

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A door handle, maybe brass, definitely not contemporary. It was older,

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way older. I went to go pick it up. It

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was not moving. Maybe it was stuck, so I gave

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it a good kick again. It didn't budge. Then on

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closer inspection saw it was still attached to what appeared

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to be a large door. I started to use my

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foot to clear off debris and dirt from the door's surface.

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Nothing special, just a flat oaken door five feet by

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five feet with a handle on the side. I walked

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to the opposite side and found two broken hinges along

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its edge. Was this the door that should have been

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over the shaft? I glanced at the shaft opening, then

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the door. It was the right size. How the hell, though,

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did something so heavy get over here? It had to

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be at least twelve inches thick and made of solid wood,

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actually timber. They really don't make doors like this anymore.

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I worked my flashlight over the door and continued using

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my foot to clear the leaves and dirt that covered it.

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On the surface of the door, starting on each side,

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etched into it, I could make out letters that formed words.

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Each side was in a different language. I positioned myself

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at the bottom of the door. Along the top of

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the door, the letters I recognized, but having markings above

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and next to some of the letters, not a language

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I recognized. I moved to the left side of the

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door and saw along the right side of the door

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was lines in English, but a vast dated form of English.

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It was like something out of a Shakespearean sonnet, lots

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of thousand these. I didn't like Shakespeare when I was

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in high school. I doubt i'd like it now. I

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made my way to the top of the door and

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looked down to the bottom. Along the bottom side were

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lines in French. I could recognize that since I drove

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in Canada regularly. It's a bilingual country. Yet that didn't

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make me bilingual. I couldn't read it, but it was

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definitely French. I then made my way to the right

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side of the door and looked across my Catholicism kicking in.

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My grandmother would be so proud. The lines I was

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looking at appeared to be in Latin etched along the side,

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but again I couldn't read a word. I went back

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to the left side and read the etching on the

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right the Shakespearean English. The first line read, taketh heed

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a serpent here dwells my curiosity piqued, I engaged the

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camera on my phone and started taking pictures, taking care

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to get the entire door, and then the different language groupings.

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And then a sound broke the silence, not a roar,

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not a cry, but a followed by my wife's voice

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calling my name. My wife had arrived. I could see

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her silhouette backlit by the car's headlights as she ran

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towards me. I turned from the door and started jogging

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to my wife, but my mind couldn't turn away from

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the mystery of the shaft, as a new set of

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questions joined the others

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Speaker 2: Attent