Fast Food Horror - Season 2 Episode 8.1 - The Tale of the House on Morrow Hill

A couple move into the family home in a strange little town... and discover their home is stranger still

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Hey listeners, it's E J.Miller, the writer, creator and producer
here at Fast Food Horror. WhenI started off this podcast, I did
so with the intention on giving youbite sized stories, quick and digestible,
scary and spooky. But when thisidea came to me, I realized I

(00:21):
couldn't tell the full story in onefifteen minute serving. It would have to
be broken up over a few weeks. So I hope you enjoy this latest
tale, the Tale of the Houseon Morrow Hill. Igor take it away,

(01:17):
Welcome to another episode of Fast Foodhar In this story, authored by
E. J. Miller, aman and his wife move into a small,
strange little town, but find theirhouse is stranger still. In this

(01:42):
tale entitled the Tale of the Houseon Morrow Hill, just seven nights into
our stay in our new home,I don't believe we'll be staying an eighth

(02:07):
not because the home isn't structurally sound, not because we are having marriage issues,
but because the home came with something, a something we cannot live with.
Let me tell you how we gothere. My wife inherited her family
home after her grandfather passed last year. A beautiful old Victorian manor just north

(02:30):
of the Adirondacks in the small sleepytown of Holland's Pocket. Holland's Pocket an
interesting name, to say the least. The town is placed at the base
of Holland's Peak in the Holland Hills. Due to the peak and the surrounding
hillscape, the town is cast inshadow and darkness more times than not,

(02:53):
hence Holland's Pocket. The town iswhat one might call quaint Rockwellian. Aside
from its abnormal nocturnal nature, theworld as it is has not yet found
its way here. The nearest WallMart or Target is miles away. There

(03:13):
are no drive through restaurants, noMcDonald's or Wendy's, and certainly not a
Starbucks. It has but one streetthat runs through town, lit by sodium
lights. It has a drug storethat has been run by the same family
for five generations, and honest togoodness soda and ice cream shop with soda

(03:34):
fountains, a cafe that also doublesas the town's meeting and gossip spot,
only one church that everyone in townattends, and a police force that consists
of five officers and but two cars. It is the very definition of small
town shoot. A majority of theresidents still have a landline since the surrounding

(03:58):
hills interfere with cell signal. Mywife's family home is set on the top
of Marrow Hill, just outside oftown, a beautiful Victorian manner that her
great great grandfather, the good TownDoctor, built when he emigrated from Prussia
early in the last century. Twofloors, six bedrooms or was it eight

(04:20):
two and a half bathrooms, anda kitchen so big you could entertain in
it, all set on a smallapple orchard. When my wife was told
that her grandfather left it to herin the will, I wasn't exactly thrilled
with the prospect of moving to Nowheresville, but my wife was very persuasive.
She pointed out that the home hadthe great potential to be turned into a

(04:44):
bed and breakfast that she could run, and that I could continue my job
as an editor from home and onlyhave to travel to the main office every
three months or so. There wasa lovely little study off the kitchen I
could use as an office, andthe house was so secluded there would be
little to no distractions for me.I may even be able to work on

(05:06):
that novel I always talked about.All of our kids were now adults and
had since flown from the nest dispersedacross the country. Most of her other
family had since passed, and Iwas raised in and out of foster care
a ward of the state. Ireally had no other family to tie me

(05:26):
down to a location, so wemade the move from the big city to
Holland's pocket. We estimated three monthsto clean up the home that her grandfather
had not lived in in two yearssince being moved to the nursing home,
then passing away, painting all therooms, making the odd repair, and

(05:49):
bringing the home up to date beforewe opened it up as a bed and
breakfast in the fall, just intime for apple picking. We moved in
fourth of July weekend and took themaster bedroom on the bottom floor, nearest
the kitchen. A majority of theother bedrooms were on the second floor,

(06:09):
so it would give us space fromour future guests. Upon arrival, my
wife gave me an emotional tour ofthe family home, where she spent a
good deal of her childhood memories andstories filled every room. We took a
walk around the grounds and the interiorof the home, making mental notes of
the things that needed to be donerepaired, replaced or updated. We then

(06:34):
set upon the arduous task of unpacking. By evening's end, we had made
significant progress in the ladder, andas the shadows started to cast themselves long
and dark over Holland's pocket, wedecided to call it a night and collapsed
into bed. That first night,though I woke up freezing, not just

(06:59):
cool or cold. I'm not beinghyperbolic when I say freezing. I immediately
thought the air conditioning might have beenleft on high or at its lowest setting,
but this house had no air conditioning. I reached to the nightstand and
tapped the screen of my cell phoneto check the time two thirty three am,

(07:20):
and caught sight of my breath inthe air, a visible puff of
white upon my exhal in July.No matter the location of the house or
time of day, this was off. This wasn't right. I tried to
wake Steph gently at first, thenwith a bit more urgency, but she

(07:46):
was out. I watched my breathas I exhaled. I tried to make
sense of the ice box like temperaturein our bedroom. What kind of technical
glitch, geographical or weather finale wasI experiencing? There had to be a
logical explanation. My concentration, however, was broken by a metallic thud against

(08:11):
something hard that seemed to echo throughthe house. It repeated again and again,
like the beat of a bass drum, keeping time, the wa the
waf, the whack. My immediateimpulse was to rush from the room and
determine the source of the sound.Where was it coming from? What was

(08:33):
it? Was it the ancient pipes, the furnace, or God forbid,
the foundation giving way, or somethingcompletely else. I stayed, though,
lying there next to my wife,not out of fear, but the idea
of leaving her with this unnatural temperaturething in the room, unable to wake

(08:54):
her from her sound sleep, andnow this pounding sound. I stayed,
keeping guard from what, if anything, I did not know. I could
wait till she woke, wait tillmorning to figure this out.