Squirrels — A Vacant House Hides a Flesh-Eating Colony

Transcript prepared from a new automatic transcription of this episode’s released Spreaker recording. Separate host introductions, closing remarks, and identified advertisements are omitted. Reviewed for the previously flagged gaps and repetition; not checked word for word by a human against the audio. Some transcription errors may remain.

Squirrels by Douglas Waltz The first time I saw the squirrel, I was jogging down Marigold Street. It intersected with my street, Parker Street. My route was simple enough. Out my front door, go left, turn left down Marigold, which led all the way to Gambrell Park and the running trails. Five miles out, five miles back. so the squirrel unlike most squirrels you see in trees or running across the neatly manicured lawns that i ran by daily was in one of the upper floor windows of mrs woodrow's house the biggest problem with that wasn't the fact that the squirrel was in the house it was that the house was empty it had been empty for the past month since mrs woodrow had died she was a nice old lady lived alone in her 80s husband long gone to the great beyond i would see her once in a while on my morning runs the consensual smile and wave each time but that was really it i had heard from my friend rob that she had died he was in the realtor business and in charge of selling the house i saw his fake smiling face on the sign planted in the front yard near the sidewalk.

I knew from that first sighting of the squirrel Rob would be mad. Wouldn't do to have the house become infested with critters. Probably found a spot up near the roof and got in that way. I told myself to mention it to Rob the next time I saw him, but each and every time it just slipped my mind. Apparently a squirrel in a house didn't make that big of an impression on me.

until the following week when I jogged past and there were two squirrels just sitting up on their hind legs looking out the window. The front side of the house had three windows on the top floor and a huge picture window that I assumed was in the living room and a smaller one on the other side that probably was over the sink in the kitchen.

So the squirrel population had doubled in a pretty short period of time. The second squirrel prompted me to call Rob, and he didn't answer, so I left him a message, telling him he might want to look into an exterminator. And that was the last I thought of Rob and Mrs. Woodward's house. Until the third squirrel showed up. Now each window on the top floor had a squirrel, all being really passive and just staring out the windows.

Soon the bottom floor windows had squirrels as well. I could feel those soulless black eyes staring at me as I jogged past each and every morning. I could swear they were watching me. But that's impossible. Squirrels don't do that. I was so sure they didn't do that that I checked Google after my run. Yeah, squirrels could care less what we are up to as long as we weren't trying to kill them.

I had no reason to kill the squirrels. Another week followed, and soon the picture window had a line of squirrels in it. And there were more than one of them in the other windows. Seems the place was filling up fast, I joked to myself. It made me chuckle. After three times of reaching Rob's machine, I decided I could just let Rob find out on his own that the late Mrs.

Woodward's lovely house was becoming a squirrel condo. What business was it of mine? But it did seem like a lot of squirrels. I had no idea how many squirrels lived in a normal residential neighborhood, and that led me back to Google. Yeah, for everyone you saw, there could be more. A lot more. That unnerved me slightly. Mrs. Woodward's house was a block from my own.

Last thing I needed was vermin trying to get into my house. Finally, one day I noticed the for-sale sign with Rob's face was gone from the front yard. Windows were still full of squirrels. Did someone move in and keep the squirrels? I laughed at the absurd thought and stopped at the walkway that led to the front door of the house. What the hell?

I actually said aloud. It broke the quiet silence of the morning air, and I looked around to see if anyone had heard me. Not a lot of traffic in the neighborhood that early in the morning, so I was good. I decided to walk up to the front door and knock. Before my hand touched the door, I noticed a weird, low chittering noise that seemed to emanate from the entire house.

How many squirrels could be in there? I almost knocked, but then the door opened. I tensed, expecting a swarm of killer squirrels to leap from the door right at my face. Instead, there was an old man staring at me. He was small, slightly hunched with a face so filled with wrinkles he could have been a hundred years old if he was a day.

Yes, he said in a weird, high-pitched voice. I was speechless. He continued to stare at me. I finally managed to ask him about the squirrels. What squirrels? came the same high-pitched voice. I leaned away from the door to look up to the windows. I was going to point out how they were filled with the little beasts, but the windows were empty. Not a single squirrel in sight.

I panicked, apologized, and took off running. I had gone three blocks before I realized my brain had decided to finish my run. There was a trickle of ice-cold sweat running down my back, and my face felt red hot. The next morning I told myself, just skip a day. I reassured myself that I ran every day religiously, and could miss one. I kept telling myself that as I put on my shorts and a t-shirt.

I was pretty sure I had convinced myself as I was lacing up my running shoes and a little shocked at my own behavior as my feet hit the sidewalk and I started to run. I had to know. I had to see, for myself, that some little old man had moved into Mrs. Woodward's house and the squirrels must have left, unless he was raising the squirrels.

Why would people raise squirrels? They couldn't make great pets. Meat, maybe? I knew people ate squirrels, and they are awful small, so maybe he was raising them in bulk to make it more profitable. As I turned onto Marigold, the icy sweat returned. Where would he sell squirrel meat? I never in my life could remember seeing squirrel for sale in any supermarket I had stepped foot in.

maybe online as a specialty? All of my assumptions were swirling in my brain as I ran past the house, windows filled with squirrels. And this time, I watched them all lock their black, beady eyes on me, their heads turned as they followed my progress until I was past the house. At that point, I finished my run out of spite. Yeah, that'll teach those damn squirrels.

I laughed again at my own sense of humor. Felt like maybe I laughed a little too long at such a lame thought. The next morning, I was watching the news and heard about a rash of robberies in and around my neighborhood. It seemed that even the suburbs weren't safe from the nearby city life of crime and violence. I had installed a burglar alarm years ago, so it wasn't a problem for me.

I got ready for my run and headed out the door, ready for my daily squirrel encounter. As I approached the house, it felt like something was... off. Then, I noticed it. There wasn't a single squirrel in any of the windows, and the front door was wide open. I slowed down as I reached the walkway and agonized over what to do next. I stared at the open door.

From the sidewalk, it was just a black rectangle. No noise. No squirrels. I must have stared at that doorway for what felt like an hour at least, but knew it was just my nerves exaggerating time. I decided to slowly walk towards the door. Halfway down the walk, I realized I should probably call the police. My hand went into my front pocket and came up empty.

I could see it lying on my kitchen counter, mocking me for not remembering to take it. Idiot, I whispered, as if I had someone there with me and I didn't want them to hear. I inhaled deeply and walked to the doorway. Looking into the gloom, it just looked like a normal house, not a sign of a squirrel or the little old man who had answered the door.

I called out and waited. No answer. I called out one more time with the same results. Finally, I took my first step ever into what had been Mrs. Woodward's house. It had an odd smell that I recognized immediately. It was old people smell. Years ago, I had a part-time job at a senior facility. I went around and checked on the people who lived there.

It was a nice enough job. Most of them just wanted to talk, so I heard some pretty fascinating stories. But the smell was always there, in each room. My favorite person to visit with was Mr. McCleary, Harrison McCleary, 95 years old. He had been in both world wars and had a story every time I visited. Finally, one day, I asked him what that particular smell was.

That's death, he said matter-of-factly. When he saw my puzzled face, he explained it to me. People decay their whole lives. Sure, there's some growth there at first, but even then you lose old cells to be replaced by new ones. As you near the end of your journey here on this rock, you just don't move around as much, so the smell has nowhere to go.

That's what you smell. Perfectly natural. I had left it at that. Made perfect sense to me. and now I was in a house that I expected to find Squirrel Central and there wasn't a single one to be seen. I flipped the switch near the front door and the lights blazed to life. Still no squirrels. Then I heard a faint, wet chewing noise coming from the kitchen.

Against my better judgment, I went to the kitchen. To this day, I really wish I had just left and gone home to call the police. But I didn't. The kitchen looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Nothing was where it belonged. The little table and chair set that had been a breakfast nook was overturned, and on the floor were two figures.

One was the old man, but something looked wrong. He looked flat, like he was just a suit of an old man. There was no substance there, just skin. Next to him was a pile of squirrels in the shape of a man. Under them was another man. Each of their little claws and mouths were bright red from the blood. My panicked vision saw a gun lying near the man being devoured and as my thought processes fired through my brain, I put it all together.

The rash of burglaries. The old man on the floor. The other man with the gun. Obviously, the crook didn't realize that someone was home, got in the house, and surprised the old man, and... But why was the old man so flat? That was when I noticed that the chewing noise had dissipated. I stopped trying to look everywhere and focused on the body.

All of the squirrels were staring, blankly at me. A few had drops of blood fall from their mouths as they continued to stare. I knew I had to get out, but my legs were refusing the simplest command to run. I took one step backward. The pile of squirrels flew off the dead man in a flurry and headed for the body of the old man.

And then I saw it. One by one, in rapid succession, they squeezed into his mouth And the old man inflated and took form As the last one burrowed into his mouth, he stood up and stared at me The last squirrel's tail still hanging from his mouth The tail disappeared with a disgusting slurp The old man wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt staining it scarlet in the process He took one step forward and in that high-pitched voice he said Get out!

My brain clicked, my legs came to life, and I ran out of the kitchen Two more steps that were more like leaps put me at the front door and I vaulted back to my house My mind registered the door slam behind me and I made my best time ever getting back to my house where I collapsed into a sweaty ball of fear and disbelief.

The next day, clad in my running outfit, I reached the end of my walkway that connected to the sidewalk. And then, I made a right.