Speaker 1: Hey, listeners, it's EJ over here at Fast Food Horror.
So again I'm going to take over MC duties and
announce this installment as Igor Froederich is still off on vacation.
Cue the lightning. Welcome to Fast Food Horror. In this episode,
one of our residents is starting to discover there's something
more about the house his wife has inherited and they've
moved into more than just a strange little town, oh
much more. In this episode entitled the Tale of the
House on Morrow Hill, Night number three. As the sun
rose that morning, so did I from my sentinel spot
in bed. The chill that was in the air all
that night quickly disappeared and was replaced by the warmth
one would expect of an early July morning. I gathered
myself and slowly made my way out of the bedroom
and through the kitchen, staggered past the already percolating coffee
pot out to the sitting room where the couch was.
I hoped Steph would assume I had another rough night,
tiptoe passed me and let me catch up on some sleep.
As I closed my eyes, I reflected I could accept
that the chill might be caused by some error with
an ancient furnace or ventilation system. But the blanket and
sheets being ripped from the bed and deposited across the
room bothered me. It bothered me in an entirely different way,
and was my lone thought as I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up some time after nine a m. And
went about looking for Steff. I found her busy in
the kitchen, unboxing pots, pans, plates, cups, and other utensils,
placing them in their new homes. I settled down at
the nook with a cup of coffee. I thought she
was bad at me at first, not acknowledging my presence
for a few minutes. Then I realized she seemed to
be moving odd one step back, two steps forward, two
steps back, one step forward, arms being controlled by unseen
puppet strings like she wasn't truly in control of her
own body. She had her air pods in a concert
in her head only she could hear, and was so
wrapped up in her task she didn't see or hear
me enter. The yelp she let out when she finally
saw her audience of one watching her from the nook
would have been comical if I hadn't spent the last
two nights wide awake. She let out an embarrassed laugh,
and as she collected herself, then asked when I had
woke up and if I had another chilly night. I
took my last gulp of coffee and then made my
way across the kitchen to pour myself another cup. As
I told her what happened awaking to the frosty chill,
the sheets and blanket found across the room, and then
the noise the rhythmic percussion emanating from somewhere in the house,
She listened and took it in as she continued unboxing,
placing plates and bowls in the cabinet. She reminded me
that the repair man would be coming in a few days,
and she would reach out to him later today to
see if an earlier spot had perhaps opened. As for
the sheets and blankets, she offered an easy explanation. She
explained that maybe one of us had gotten overheated and
tossed them off in frustration, and since we were both
so exhausted, we did so well asleep on our feet.
I had to admit this explanation seemed most likely both
of us tired, stressed over a big move, the unloading
and unboxing, and the constant pressure of the mounting tasks ahead,
starting a new business in a new place, Sleeping in
an unfamiliar place for at least one of us, It
did feel logical that third night, though. It wasn't the
chill that woke me this time, although the Chris mop
cold air was all enveloping in the bedroom, goose bumps
visible on my arms and torso, the sheets and blanket
again missing from anywhere. On top of the bed. I
searched the room in the moonlight, my eyes scanning, not
for the sheets in blanket though, no, but for the
source of the feeling, the feeling that I couldn't shake,
the feeling that brought me awake, the feeling that something
or someone else was there in the room watching. I
reached across to the nightstand and tapped my cell phone
two thirty three a m. I then activated the cell
phone flashlight and worked the beam back and forth across
the room. No one, nothing, was there. I arose from
my bed and started to walk around the room, looking
in the closet, under the bed, behind the boxes piled
in one corner. I checked the window latch. It was
still secure. There was no one here but myself and stuff.
I had checked every inch, and yet I could not
shake the feeling that we were not alone. I walked
slowly back to the bed, working the flashlight back and
forth as I walked, constantly scanning, constantly looking, and as
I reached my hand to my wife's shoulder to gently
shake her awake, Feeling like a foolish child looking for
the comfort of a parent awoken from a dream or
a nightmare. The bedroom door swung violently open, impact in
the wall, and then the banging thwack thwack thwack. I
dashed from the room, not out of fear, but to
catch whomever had wrenched the door open with such force
and would now be sure running from the home. The
kitchen was empty, nothing was disturbed, as well as the
sitting room, the laundry, the bathrooms, the closet, the study,
the pantry, the dining room, the foyer, all empty, nothing amiss,
the front and rear door still locked and bolted shut.
I proceeded to the second floor, checked each of the rooms,
turning on every light, checking every closet and hallway, not
leaving one inch unsecured, and after an hour I found
I was the only person awake in the house, and
the only thing to keep me company was the constant,
the whack thash, the