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Speaker 1: Hey, listeners, it's EJ over here at Fast Food Horror.

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So again I'm going to take over MC duties and

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announce this installment as Igor Froederich is still off on vacation.

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Cue the lightning. Welcome to Fast Food Horror. In this episode,

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one of our residents is starting to discover there's something

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more about the house his wife has inherited and they've

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moved into more than just a strange little town, oh

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much more. In this episode entitled the Tale of the

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House on Morrow Hill, Night number three. As the sun

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rose that morning, so did I from my sentinel spot

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in bed. The chill that was in the air all

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that night quickly disappeared and was replaced by the warmth

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one would expect of an early July morning. I gathered

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myself and slowly made my way out of the bedroom

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and through the kitchen, staggered past the already percolating coffee

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pot out to the sitting room where the couch was.

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I hoped Steph would assume I had another rough night,

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tiptoe passed me and let me catch up on some sleep.

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As I closed my eyes, I reflected I could accept

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that the chill might be caused by some error with

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an ancient furnace or ventilation system. But the blanket and

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sheets being ripped from the bed and deposited across the

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room bothered me. It bothered me in an entirely different way,

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and was my lone thought as I drifted off to sleep.

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I woke up some time after nine a m. And

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went about looking for Steff. I found her busy in

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the kitchen, unboxing pots, pans, plates, cups, and other utensils,

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placing them in their new homes. I settled down at

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the nook with a cup of coffee. I thought she

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was bad at me at first, not acknowledging my presence

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for a few minutes. Then I realized she seemed to

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be moving odd one step back, two steps forward, two

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steps back, one step forward, arms being controlled by unseen

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puppet strings like she wasn't truly in control of her

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own body. She had her air pods in a concert

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in her head only she could hear, and was so

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wrapped up in her task she didn't see or hear

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me enter. The yelp she let out when she finally

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saw her audience of one watching her from the nook

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would have been comical if I hadn't spent the last

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two nights wide awake. She let out an embarrassed laugh,

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and as she collected herself, then asked when I had

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woke up and if I had another chilly night. I

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took my last gulp of coffee and then made my

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way across the kitchen to pour myself another cup. As

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I told her what happened awaking to the frosty chill,

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the sheets and blanket found across the room, and then

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the noise the rhythmic percussion emanating from somewhere in the house,

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She listened and took it in as she continued unboxing,

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placing plates and bowls in the cabinet. She reminded me

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that the repair man would be coming in a few days,

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and she would reach out to him later today to

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see if an earlier spot had perhaps opened. As for

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the sheets and blankets, she offered an easy explanation. She

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explained that maybe one of us had gotten overheated and

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tossed them off in frustration, and since we were both

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so exhausted, we did so well asleep on our feet.

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I had to admit this explanation seemed most likely both

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of us tired, stressed over a big move, the unloading

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and unboxing, and the constant pressure of the mounting tasks ahead,

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starting a new business in a new place, Sleeping in

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an unfamiliar place for at least one of us, It

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did feel logical that third night, though. It wasn't the

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chill that woke me this time, although the Chris mop

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cold air was all enveloping in the bedroom, goose bumps

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visible on my arms and torso, the sheets and blanket

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again missing from anywhere. On top of the bed. I

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searched the room in the moonlight, my eyes scanning, not

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for the sheets in blanket though, no, but for the

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source of the feeling, the feeling that I couldn't shake,

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the feeling that brought me awake, the feeling that something

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or someone else was there in the room watching. I

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reached across to the nightstand and tapped my cell phone

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two thirty three a m. I then activated the cell

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phone flashlight and worked the beam back and forth across

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the room. No one, nothing, was there. I arose from

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my bed and started to walk around the room, looking

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in the closet, under the bed, behind the boxes piled

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in one corner. I checked the window latch. It was

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still secure. There was no one here but myself and stuff.

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I had checked every inch, and yet I could not

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shake the feeling that we were not alone. I walked

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slowly back to the bed, working the flashlight back and

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forth as I walked, constantly scanning, constantly looking, and as

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I reached my hand to my wife's shoulder to gently

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shake her awake, Feeling like a foolish child looking for

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the comfort of a parent awoken from a dream or

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a nightmare. The bedroom door swung violently open, impact in

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the wall, and then the banging thwack thwack thwack. I

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dashed from the room, not out of fear, but to

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catch whomever had wrenched the door open with such force

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and would now be sure running from the home. The

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kitchen was empty, nothing was disturbed, as well as the

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sitting room, the laundry, the bathrooms, the closet, the study,

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the pantry, the dining room, the foyer, all empty, nothing amiss,

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the front and rear door still locked and bolted shut.

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I proceeded to the second floor, checked each of the rooms,

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turning on every light, checking every closet and hallway, not

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leaving one inch unsecured, and after an hour I found

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I was the only person awake in the house, and

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the only thing to keep me company was the constant,

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the whack thash, the