Fast Food Horror
Fast Food Horror - Season 2 Episode 7.2 - The Tale of the House on Morrow Hill - The Second Night
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[Loud thud] [Dramatic music] As the summer sun rose the next morning, so thankfully to the temperature in the room, like a curtain on a stage for the second act of a show, the ominous sounds that once echoed throughout the house had subsided sometime earlier. So, sensing that whatever threat there was or might be was no longer, that normalcy had returned, I left my wife asleep in bed, and made my way down to the kitchen for what would surely be the first of many a cup of coffee. Not long thereafter, Steph joined me in the kitchen and took in my bleary-eyed presence, sitting there in the morning silence. Unperturbed, she poured herself a cup of coffee and settled in across from me at the breakfast night. Took her first delicate sip and asked how I slept. With an exhausted chuckle, I went into my now well rehearsed account of what had happened that night, awaking with the temperature drop of the chilled room, the banging that echoed throughout the house all night while she soundly slept, unable to be awakened. She never interrupted, she let me talk and took in every detail and concern I had, sipping her coffee as I went, and when I was finished, she took her last gulp and placed her mug on the table and laughed and applauded. She thought this was my initial attempt at writing my novel and I was using her as a sounding board. It took me a while to get an award edgewise over her enthusiastic suggestions and questions of where I was going with it, with the story, but when I did, when she really saw how tired and concerned I was. She chalked it up to the ancient furnace in my exhaustion and stress over the move. Steph said when she went into town for supplies, she would inquire at the hardware store about furnace or heater repair companies in town. That made me feel better. Sorta. Steph came home a few hours later, groceries and cleaning supplies in multiple bags, as I had continued to move the rest of the boxes into our new home. She reported that she found a handyman that agreed to come out at the end of the week, but he couldn't make it any sooner due to his backlog of work from the holiday. That would have to do, since one of the locals told her none of the big fancy name heating places would come all the way out here without it costing us a pretty penny, and that was just for the consult, not even the repair. So, the handyman waiting game was on. That second night though. I awoke from a dead sleep, physically shaking. The chill in the air was more so than first night. I found myself lying there in bed without a blanket or a sheet. I searched in the dim light of the room, on the bed for either or both of them. I searched the foot of the bed to see if her or I or both of us had kicked them down there, but they were not there. My wife hadn't pulled or rolled with them either, so not there. I rolled to my right, to my bedside nightstand, and activated the flashlight, trying to control my shivering. Now, sitting up in bed, my exhale puffs illuminated by the flashlight's beam. I scanned the room, arms flutched around my chest, knees drawn in, searching for the sheets and blanket, with a tiny phone flashlight, and found them. Not on the floor on the sides of the bed, the sheets in the blanket were clear across the room in a piled heap, like they had been ripped from the bed and thrown across the room. I whispered my wife's name to try and wake her before reaching across and gently rocking her wake. She did not respond. I became more insistent with my voice and my rocking became more of a gentle shaking. Nothing. She was warm to the touch and in a deep sleep. My eyes drifted to the screen of my phone, clutched in my hand, 2.33 am. There had to be a reasonable explanation as I watched the puffs of white escape my mouth with each exhalation. This unnatural temperature drop, and now the sheets being ripped from the bed, not kicked off by one of us, but thrown clear across the room. The master bedroom wasn't exactly small either. The opposite wall was more than 15 feet away. I would have to ask Steph in the morning about that last part. I walked across the room, scooped up the sheets and laid them across the bed and opened a window to let in the July warmth. Then climbed back in bed next to my wife. Just before I closed my eyes, it started. That metallic thud from the other night echoed throughout the house, repeating again and again, the whack, the whack, the whack. Steph didn't stir, the whack, the whack, the whack, the whack, it was going to be another long night. [Music] [BLANK_AUDIO]