WEBVTT 00:00:09.960 --> 00:00:13.259 Welcome to Macabre Miscellanea, a curated collection 00:00:13.259 --> 00:00:16.920 of creepy curiosities. Tonight's story involves 00:00:16.920 --> 00:00:20.660 a $60 refrigerator, a young woman who received 00:00:20.660 --> 00:00:23.260 clear instructions, understood them perfectly, 00:00:23.539 --> 00:00:27.660 and looked anyway. We've all met her. Some of 00:00:27.660 --> 00:00:30.940 us are her. The only thing more inevitable than 00:00:30.940 --> 00:00:34.399 curiosity is what happens when it's corrected. 00:00:35.460 --> 00:00:38.929 Tonight's tale, Footprints in the Butter. Turn 00:00:38.929 --> 00:00:44.090 down the lights. Let's begin. My mini fridge 00:00:44.090 --> 00:00:47.350 dies on a Tuesday, which feels rude even for 00:00:47.350 --> 00:00:49.710 a kitchen that already looks like it's losing 00:00:49.710 --> 00:00:53.149 a fight with time. I find out because my milk 00:00:53.149 --> 00:00:56.030 is warm. Not left it out for 10 minutes warm. 00:00:56.189 --> 00:00:58.429 Warm like it's been thinking about becoming something 00:00:58.429 --> 00:01:01.369 else. The air inside the fridge has that sweet, 00:01:01.469 --> 00:01:05.719 sour, lazy smell that says biology lab. I stand 00:01:05.719 --> 00:01:08.500 there in my socks, door open, staring at the 00:01:08.500 --> 00:01:11.400 limp carton like it might explain itself. The 00:01:11.400 --> 00:01:14.340 light inside flickers once, then gives up completely. 00:01:16.079 --> 00:01:20.799 Okay, I say to nobody, great, perfect, love that 00:01:20.799 --> 00:01:24.500 for me. I've been in this off -campus rental 00:01:24.500 --> 00:01:26.739 for two weeks because it's what I can afford. 00:01:26.879 --> 00:01:30.040 The cabinets don't line up, the floors slope 00:01:30.040 --> 00:01:32.739 just enough that my desk chair slowly migrates 00:01:32.739 --> 00:01:34.859 toward the wall if I don't wedge it. The kitchen 00:01:34.859 --> 00:01:37.840 window looks directly into a brick wall, so all 00:01:37.840 --> 00:01:40.400 the daylight comes pre -filtered through mildew 00:01:40.400 --> 00:01:43.239 and disappointment. The mini fridge was the one 00:01:43.239 --> 00:01:45.819 nice thing I brought with me. It survived three 00:01:45.819 --> 00:01:49.000 roommates, one power outage, and the time my 00:01:49.000 --> 00:01:51.459 ex tried to help and defrosted it with a butter 00:01:51.459 --> 00:01:57.000 knife. Now it just stops. Like it clocked out. 00:01:57.140 --> 00:02:00.950 I pull everything onto the counter. Eggs, leftovers, 00:02:01.549 --> 00:02:05.430 a tub of hummus I don't trust anymore. My phone 00:02:05.430 --> 00:02:07.930 blinks a low battery warning from the pile of 00:02:07.930 --> 00:02:10.270 mail it's been sitting on, like it's also about 00:02:10.270 --> 00:02:13.469 to give up out of solidarity. I should call my 00:02:13.469 --> 00:02:16.090 landlord, but my landlord is the kind of guy 00:02:16.090 --> 00:02:18.689 who responds to maintenance requests with a thumbs 00:02:18.689 --> 00:02:23.449 up and then never shows. I should buy a new mini 00:02:23.449 --> 00:02:26.409 fridge. But I am in the financial bracket known 00:02:26.409 --> 00:02:29.129 as college student who is always one expense 00:02:29.129 --> 00:02:32.830 away from cereal for dinner forever. So I do 00:02:32.830 --> 00:02:34.990 what broke people have done since the dawn of 00:02:34.990 --> 00:02:38.650 time. I open Marketplace. It's a graveyard of 00:02:38.650 --> 00:02:41.509 like new items photographed in dim basements. 00:02:41.849 --> 00:02:45.129 Couches with mystery stains. Desks with missing 00:02:45.129 --> 00:02:47.770 drawers. Appliances that look like they were 00:02:47.770 --> 00:02:50.439 pulled from the wreckage of something. I scroll. 00:02:50.740 --> 00:02:54.300 I squint. I do the mental math of what can I 00:02:54.300 --> 00:02:58.219 actually survive without. Then I see it. Old 00:02:58.219 --> 00:03:03.419 refrigerator. Works. Must pick up today. $60. 00:03:03.740 --> 00:03:08.340 The photo is bad. Too close. Too angled, like 00:03:08.340 --> 00:03:10.699 the person taking it didn't want to stand in 00:03:10.699 --> 00:03:13.300 the room any longer than necessary. The fridge 00:03:13.300 --> 00:03:17.340 itself is beige, scuffed, from an era when appliances 00:03:17.340 --> 00:03:20.259 were built like tanks and decorated like office 00:03:20.259 --> 00:03:25.819 buildings. But $60 is $60. I click. The seller's 00:03:25.819 --> 00:03:30.379 name is Mike. His messages are neat, short, polite. 00:03:31.020 --> 00:03:34.740 Yes, it works. Yes, the light is fine. No delivery, 00:03:34.979 --> 00:03:39.830 cash only. I type back. Any issues? Weird smells? 00:03:40.409 --> 00:03:44.090 Flickering light? Three dots appear. Then... 00:03:44.090 --> 00:03:48.289 Old fridge. Quirky. It's fine. Then a second 00:03:48.289 --> 00:03:51.810 message, a beat later. Don't go looking for the 00:03:51.810 --> 00:03:54.710 little guy. I stare at that line longer than 00:03:54.710 --> 00:03:57.550 I mean to. When I'm a kid, there's this joke 00:03:57.550 --> 00:03:59.629 adults tell when you stand at the open fridge 00:03:59.629 --> 00:04:02.849 too long. Close the door. You're letting the 00:04:02.849 --> 00:04:05.800 cold out. You'll make the little man tired. He 00:04:05.800 --> 00:04:09.199 has to turn the light off. My dad used to do 00:04:09.199 --> 00:04:11.800 the whole bit, peering into the fridge with one 00:04:11.800 --> 00:04:14.879 eye like there really was a tiny guy in there 00:04:14.879 --> 00:04:18.399 with a clipboard. My aunt always added, if you 00:04:18.399 --> 00:04:20.300 see footprints in the butter, that's the dead 00:04:20.300 --> 00:04:24.579 giveaway. It's a dad joke, an old wives tale, 00:04:24.819 --> 00:04:27.519 something parents say so you stop breathing expensive 00:04:27.519 --> 00:04:30.660 electricity with the door hanging open. I type 00:04:30.660 --> 00:04:34.350 back. LOL fridge man? Mike replies almost instantly. 00:04:34.810 --> 00:04:38.810 Something like that. No laughing emoji. No haha. 00:04:39.069 --> 00:04:42.449 Just the words sitting there on the screen. I 00:04:42.449 --> 00:04:45.269 should feel uneasy. Instead I feel hungry and 00:04:45.269 --> 00:04:48.490 mildly annoyed which is usually how my bad decisions 00:04:48.490 --> 00:04:52.189 get started. I borrow Tasha and her boyfriend's 00:04:52.189 --> 00:04:54.589 truck because my car is currently in the shop 00:04:54.589 --> 00:04:59.040 in the same way a corpse is resting. We drive 00:04:59.040 --> 00:05:02.199 across town with the kind of forced cheerfulness 00:05:02.199 --> 00:05:04.699 you use when someone's doing you a favor and 00:05:04.699 --> 00:05:08.800 you're both pretending it's fun. Um, 60 bucks 00:05:08.800 --> 00:05:11.939 for a full fridge is a steal. Tasha says, drumming 00:05:11.939 --> 00:05:14.360 her fingers on the wheel. Even if it's haunted. 00:05:15.019 --> 00:05:18.259 It's not haunted, I say, because saying it out 00:05:18.259 --> 00:05:22.540 loud feels like inviting it to be true. Everything's 00:05:22.540 --> 00:05:25.519 haunted, she says. That's just adulthood. You're 00:05:25.519 --> 00:05:27.899 haunted by your student loans. I'm haunted by 00:05:27.899 --> 00:05:30.620 my ex. This fridge is haunted by being beige. 00:05:32.240 --> 00:05:35.220 Mike's building has narrow stairs and carpet 00:05:35.220 --> 00:05:38.079 that smells like wet dog and old cooking oil. 00:05:38.379 --> 00:05:41.319 He buzzes us in without asking who we are, like 00:05:41.319 --> 00:05:44.160 he's been waiting at the door. He opens it before 00:05:44.160 --> 00:05:48.220 we knock. He's around 40, close -cropped hair, 00:05:48.500 --> 00:05:53.560 sunglasses on inside. His face is calm, pleasant. 00:05:54.500 --> 00:05:57.240 Blank in a way that would read as arrogance if 00:05:57.240 --> 00:06:00.759 it didn't also read as something else. I notice 00:06:00.759 --> 00:06:03.699 he's not looking at me. He's looking slightly 00:06:03.699 --> 00:06:06.240 past my shoulder, head angled, like he's tracking 00:06:06.240 --> 00:06:09.680 my voice instead of my face. Fridge is in the 00:06:09.680 --> 00:06:13.240 kitchen, he says. Straight back. His apartment 00:06:13.240 --> 00:06:16.139 is tidy in the way a place gets tidy when clutter 00:06:16.139 --> 00:06:19.060 is a hazard. Nothing on the floor. Furniture 00:06:19.060 --> 00:06:22.480 positioned with intention. Corners clear, small 00:06:22.480 --> 00:06:25.220 strips of tape along the counter edges, a textured 00:06:25.220 --> 00:06:28.199 line running the length of one wall. The fridge 00:06:28.199 --> 00:06:32.420 sits against the far wall, humming softly. Beige, 00:06:32.459 --> 00:06:36.300 scuffed, older than me. I open the door, light 00:06:36.300 --> 00:06:39.339 on, shelves empty. Smells like baking soda and 00:06:39.339 --> 00:06:43.899 cold plastic. See? Tasha says quietly. It's fine. 00:06:44.720 --> 00:06:48.399 I close the door. A second later, click. The 00:06:48.399 --> 00:06:51.459 light comes on behind it. I freeze, hand still 00:06:51.459 --> 00:06:54.120 on the handle. Tasha's smile goes uncertain. 00:06:54.740 --> 00:06:58.959 Old relay, she says. Probably. I look at Mike. 00:06:59.060 --> 00:07:02.319 He's still facing us, hands in his pockets, listening. 00:07:03.100 --> 00:07:07.379 It does that sometimes, he says. It's fine. We 00:07:07.379 --> 00:07:10.019 get it down the stairs the ugly way, scraping 00:07:10.019 --> 00:07:14.019 walls, sweating, swearing. Mike stands at the 00:07:14.019 --> 00:07:17.759 top the entire time, not offering help, not moving, 00:07:17.959 --> 00:07:22.459 just... Tasha glances up at him from the second 00:07:22.459 --> 00:07:25.120 landing, both of us red -faced and wedged against 00:07:25.120 --> 00:07:27.319 the wall with a half -ton of beige appliance. 00:07:28.439 --> 00:07:31.980 Hey, don't worry about us, she calls up. Two 00:07:31.980 --> 00:07:34.199 90 -pound girls in a refrigerator, we got it. 00:07:34.259 --> 00:07:37.540 Really, please stay right there. She drops her 00:07:37.540 --> 00:07:40.240 voice to a mutter. I'm sure he's got a lot of 00:07:40.240 --> 00:07:43.980 standing to do. Mike says nothing, just listens. 00:07:44.779 --> 00:07:46.860 When we finally get it into the truck bed and 00:07:46.860 --> 00:07:48.899 I look back up, he's still there in the doorway. 00:07:49.720 --> 00:07:53.220 Take care of it, he says. On the drive home, 00:07:53.379 --> 00:07:57.879 Tasha glances at me. He was blind, right? Yeah, 00:07:57.939 --> 00:08:01.980 I say. Oh, I think so. Cool, she says. Cool, 00:08:01.980 --> 00:08:04.899 cool, cool. So we bought a haunted fridge from 00:08:04.899 --> 00:08:07.579 a blind man who said something cryptic. It's 00:08:07.579 --> 00:08:10.360 not haunted, I say again, and it sounds weaker 00:08:10.360 --> 00:08:15.160 this time. Tasha nods. Okay. But check the butter 00:08:15.160 --> 00:08:19.680 for footprints. Shut up. Dead giveaway. Back 00:08:19.680 --> 00:08:22.620 at my place, we haul the fridge inside. My kitchen 00:08:22.620 --> 00:08:25.259 is barely big enough for two people without touching. 00:08:25.480 --> 00:08:28.500 The beige fridge takes up half the visual space 00:08:28.500 --> 00:08:31.199 immediately, like it's already decided it lives 00:08:31.199 --> 00:08:34.899 here. We plug it in. The compressor kicks on 00:08:34.899 --> 00:08:38.899 with a deep, steady hum. Moment of truth. Tasha 00:08:38.899 --> 00:08:42.659 says. I open the door. Light on. Fine. I close 00:08:42.659 --> 00:08:47.710 it. Click. Tasha's smile falters. Okay, that's 00:08:47.710 --> 00:08:52.330 a thing. It's wiring, I say. It's old. We fiddle 00:08:52.330 --> 00:08:54.409 with it the way people fiddle with things when 00:08:54.409 --> 00:08:57.070 they want to feel competent. I press the little 00:08:57.070 --> 00:09:00.230 door switch with my finger. Light off. I let 00:09:00.230 --> 00:09:05.610 go. Light on. Normal. I close the door and press 00:09:05.610 --> 00:09:08.370 the switch through the gasket seam. The light 00:09:08.370 --> 00:09:12.429 should be off. Click. It isn't. I try it six 00:09:12.429 --> 00:09:16.210 more times. Same result. The light comes on when 00:09:16.210 --> 00:09:18.570 it wants to, on a schedule I can't identify. 00:09:18.809 --> 00:09:21.669 Patient and unhurried. Like it has somewhere 00:09:21.669 --> 00:09:24.909 to be and isn't worried about being late. Tasha 00:09:24.909 --> 00:09:27.769 checks her phone. I have to go. Study group. 00:09:29.090 --> 00:09:31.769 She steps toward the door, then pauses, hand 00:09:31.769 --> 00:09:37.190 on the frame. Just don't be weird about it. I'm 00:09:37.190 --> 00:09:40.269 not being weird about it. She looks at the fridge. 00:09:40.750 --> 00:09:43.610 Then at me. You're already being weird about 00:09:43.610 --> 00:09:47.389 it. After she leaves, the apartment feels quieter 00:09:47.389 --> 00:09:50.889 than it should. The hum fills the space. I clean 00:09:50.889 --> 00:09:53.289 the fridge because cleaning is what I do when 00:09:53.289 --> 00:09:56.549 I can't control anything else. I wipe the shelves, 00:09:56.629 --> 00:09:59.590 scrub the gasket, run my fingers along the rubber 00:09:59.590 --> 00:10:03.809 seal. I find tiny pinprick holes space evenly 00:10:03.809 --> 00:10:06.950 along the seam, like someone tested the same 00:10:06.950 --> 00:10:10.740 spots over and over with something sharp. I tell 00:10:10.740 --> 00:10:16.200 myself it's age, wear, nothing. I pull a shelf 00:10:16.200 --> 00:10:18.820 out to wipe underneath it and notice the manufacturer 00:10:18.820 --> 00:10:22.960 plate bolted to the back interior wall. Faust 00:10:22.960 --> 00:10:26.419 and Sons stamped into metal, small and official. 00:10:26.559 --> 00:10:28.559 The kind of plate that's been there since the 00:10:28.559 --> 00:10:32.080 factory. I don't recognize the brand. I don't 00:10:32.080 --> 00:10:35.399 particularly care about the brand. I put the 00:10:35.399 --> 00:10:38.450 shelf back and keep cleaning. I put my groceries 00:10:38.450 --> 00:10:43.370 in. Milk, eggs, butter, leftovers. The fridge 00:10:43.370 --> 00:10:47.330 is cold. It holds food. That's the job. I text 00:10:47.330 --> 00:10:50.250 Mike. Hey, the light keeps clicking on when the 00:10:50.250 --> 00:10:53.649 doors close. Do you know why? Three dots. Then. 00:10:53.950 --> 00:10:57.590 Old fridge. Quirky. It's fine. Don't stare at 00:10:57.590 --> 00:11:00.669 it. I stare at that message until my eyes ache. 00:11:01.049 --> 00:11:03.590 Then I put my phone down and try to be normal 00:11:03.590 --> 00:11:07.029 about the fact that I just paid $60 for a fridge 00:11:07.029 --> 00:11:11.549 that apparently has opinions. Alright, I say 00:11:11.549 --> 00:11:15.250 to the kitchen, to nobody, to the hum. Fridge 00:11:15.250 --> 00:11:19.549 man, clock out. The click follows me into the 00:11:19.549 --> 00:11:21.870 next room like a period at the end of a sentence 00:11:21.870 --> 00:11:25.169 I didn't write. That night, I wake up thirsty. 00:11:26.419 --> 00:11:31.080 It's not dramatic. It's not ominous. It's 2 .13am 00:11:31.080 --> 00:11:34.159 and my mouth feels like cotton and I want a glass 00:11:34.159 --> 00:11:37.279 of water. I stumble into the kitchen and stop 00:11:37.279 --> 00:11:39.879 because the fridge is glowing. Not through a 00:11:39.879 --> 00:11:43.539 crack. Not a sliver. The beige door is solid 00:11:43.539 --> 00:11:45.720 but there's a thin line of light bleeding out 00:11:45.720 --> 00:11:48.860 along the bottom gasket. I stand there barefoot, 00:11:49.000 --> 00:11:52.259 brain fogged, staring at it. My dad's stupid 00:11:52.259 --> 00:11:56.149 bit floats up. Close the door. You'll make the 00:11:56.149 --> 00:11:59.769 little man tired. I take a step closer. The light 00:11:59.769 --> 00:12:04.970 clicks off. I blink. A second later, click. It 00:12:04.970 --> 00:12:08.590 comes back on. I text Tasha because it's 2am 00:12:08.590 --> 00:12:11.470 and she's the only person I know who might actually 00:12:11.470 --> 00:12:14.370 respond. The fridge is doing the thing again. 00:12:14.690 --> 00:12:19.169 Three minutes pass. Then... Maya, it is 2am. 00:12:19.960 --> 00:12:22.200 Okay, but the light is on with the door closed. 00:12:22.419 --> 00:12:25.039 It's a fridge, not a haunting. Go back to sleep. 00:12:25.580 --> 00:12:29.279 What if it is a haunting, though? Then it is 00:12:29.279 --> 00:12:31.539 the most boring haunting in recorded history. 00:12:31.960 --> 00:12:35.600 A ghost that turns a light on and off. Incredible. 00:12:35.700 --> 00:12:38.539 Groundbreaking. Go to bed. I set the phone down. 00:12:38.820 --> 00:12:42.539 The fridge hums. The light leaks steady along 00:12:42.539 --> 00:12:46.620 the bottom gasket. Tasha is right. This is boring. 00:12:46.840 --> 00:12:50.019 This is a wiring issue in a $60 appliance purchased 00:12:50.019 --> 00:12:53.220 from a stranger on the internet. This is exactly 00:12:53.220 --> 00:12:56.659 what I paid for. I get my water. I go back to 00:12:56.659 --> 00:12:59.220 bed. But I leave the kitchen light on because 00:12:59.220 --> 00:13:02.500 the dark in there feels different now. Not empty, 00:13:02.580 --> 00:13:06.799 just occupied. And I am 20 years old and broke 00:13:06.799 --> 00:13:09.559 and alone in a cheap rental and I am absolutely 00:13:09.559 --> 00:13:12.100 allowed to leave the kitchen light on if I want 00:13:12.100 --> 00:13:16.500 to. I don't text Tasha that part. The next morning, 00:13:16.559 --> 00:13:20.600 I tell myself I imagined it. I'm tired. I'm stressed. 00:13:20.919 --> 00:13:23.559 I'm living alone in a cheap rental where the 00:13:23.559 --> 00:13:26.379 floors slope and the daylight comes pre -filtered 00:13:26.379 --> 00:13:29.679 through a brick wall. My brain is doing what 00:13:29.679 --> 00:13:32.279 brains do when they're bored and slightly afraid. 00:13:32.480 --> 00:13:35.679 It's finding patterns. It's inventing agency. 00:13:36.120 --> 00:13:38.960 It's turning a wiring problem into a thing that 00:13:38.960 --> 00:13:43.649 watches. I make coffee. I eat toast, I go to 00:13:43.649 --> 00:13:46.090 class, I come home and try to ignore the fridge 00:13:46.090 --> 00:13:48.409 the way you ignore a weird roommate you've decided 00:13:48.409 --> 00:13:52.309 not to engage with. It doesn't let me. Every 00:13:52.309 --> 00:13:55.529 time I walk past it, I hear the click. Not constant, 00:13:55.750 --> 00:14:00.090 not random, timed. A few clicks close together, 00:14:00.190 --> 00:14:04.110 then a pause, then again. I start noticing the 00:14:04.110 --> 00:14:06.090 rhythm without meaning to, the way you notice 00:14:06.090 --> 00:14:08.549 a dripping faucet only after you've already been 00:14:08.549 --> 00:14:12.190 listening to it for 10 minutes. I test the switch 00:14:12.190 --> 00:14:17.169 again because I can't not. Door open. Light on. 00:14:17.230 --> 00:14:21.610 Normal. Door closed. Click. Light on. Not normal. 00:14:21.889 --> 00:14:24.509 I wedge a spoon handle in the door gap so it 00:14:24.509 --> 00:14:27.470 can't seal fully. The light should stay on. Door 00:14:27.470 --> 00:14:30.309 is technically open. I come back an hour later. 00:14:30.549 --> 00:14:33.269 The spoon is on the floor. The door is closed. 00:14:33.789 --> 00:14:37.009 The light clicks on behind it. I try to laugh. 00:14:37.269 --> 00:14:42.059 The sound comes out wrong. Okay, I tell the fridge. 00:14:42.460 --> 00:14:46.019 Nice. I eat dinner at my desk with my back to 00:14:46.019 --> 00:14:48.379 the kitchen. This works fine until I realize 00:14:48.379 --> 00:14:50.720 I've been listening to the click the entire time 00:14:50.720 --> 00:14:53.820 and unconsciously timing it against my own chewing, 00:14:54.000 --> 00:14:56.340 which is exactly the kind of thing that means 00:14:56.340 --> 00:14:58.820 you've lost the thread of normalcy and are just 00:14:58.820 --> 00:15:02.500 pretending to hold it. I open the butter dish 00:15:02.500 --> 00:15:05.200 to make toast. There are faint marks in the top 00:15:05.200 --> 00:15:08.179 of the butter, small dents, like something pressed 00:15:08.179 --> 00:15:11.690 its fingertips in. I stare at them. I used a 00:15:11.690 --> 00:15:15.389 knife this morning. I could have done that. I 00:15:15.389 --> 00:15:18.190 definitely did that. I set the lid back down 00:15:18.190 --> 00:15:21.389 carefully. Like, if I'm gentle enough about it, 00:15:21.429 --> 00:15:24.450 the marks will decide to mean nothing. They keep 00:15:24.450 --> 00:15:28.429 meaning something. So I do the thing that feels 00:15:28.429 --> 00:15:32.549 like science. Because it looks like science. 00:15:33.009 --> 00:15:36.429 I buy a new stick of butter. I unwrap it and 00:15:36.429 --> 00:15:39.179 set it in the dish. With the back of a spoon, 00:15:39.279 --> 00:15:42.940 I smooth the top perfectly flat. No marks, no 00:15:42.940 --> 00:15:46.879 grooves, clean surface. I tear a thin strip from 00:15:46.879 --> 00:15:48.799 a notepad and lay it under the lid so it will 00:15:48.799 --> 00:15:51.899 crease if the dish is opened. I step back and 00:15:51.899 --> 00:15:55.960 look at it. All right, I say, and my voice is 00:15:55.960 --> 00:15:59.919 working very hard to sound casual. Let's see. 00:16:00.899 --> 00:16:03.600 That night, I set my phone on the counter and 00:16:03.600 --> 00:16:07.659 hit record. Audio only. If I record video of 00:16:07.659 --> 00:16:09.799 my fridge, I will have crossed a line I'm not 00:16:09.799 --> 00:16:13.080 ready to name. I go to bed and lie there listening 00:16:13.080 --> 00:16:16.019 for clicks that don't come because my brain has 00:16:16.019 --> 00:16:18.740 decided that silence is now also suspicious. 00:16:19.820 --> 00:16:23.379 I fall asleep anyway because bodies do that, 00:16:23.460 --> 00:16:26.899 even when you'd rather they didn't. In the morning, 00:16:26.960 --> 00:16:29.840 the first thing I do is check the butter. The 00:16:29.840 --> 00:16:31.879 paper strip is still there, but it's creased, 00:16:32.100 --> 00:16:34.639 lifted, and pressed back into place carefully, 00:16:34.860 --> 00:16:37.899 like someone was neat about it. I lift the lid. 00:16:38.139 --> 00:16:41.399 The butter is not smooth anymore. There are prints 00:16:41.399 --> 00:16:45.539 in it, not smears, not gouges, neat little toe 00:16:45.539 --> 00:16:48.559 pad impressions, space -like footsteps, marching 00:16:48.559 --> 00:16:51.240 across the top and angling toward the side of 00:16:51.240 --> 00:16:54.639 the dish closest to the fridge. I don't move 00:16:54.639 --> 00:16:57.820 for a full second. My brain tries to jam it into 00:16:57.820 --> 00:17:02.370 something normal. It's me. It's the spoon. It's 00:17:02.370 --> 00:17:04.609 the knife from yesterday that I already accounted 00:17:04.609 --> 00:17:09.289 for. It's... It's none of those. I know what 00:17:09.289 --> 00:17:13.309 a knife does to butter. This is pressure. This 00:17:13.309 --> 00:17:17.710 is weight. I lean closer like proximity will 00:17:17.710 --> 00:17:21.930 make it less true. The prints are tiny. Like 00:17:21.930 --> 00:17:26.960 a doll. Like... A child's toy. I walk to my phone 00:17:26.960 --> 00:17:29.519 and stop the recording. My fingers are steady 00:17:29.519 --> 00:17:31.839 in the way fingers get steady when your brain 00:17:31.839 --> 00:17:34.759 has quietly decided that falling apart is not 00:17:34.759 --> 00:17:39.500 currently an option. I press play. At first it's 00:17:39.500 --> 00:17:43.640 nothing. Refrigerator hum. House settling. My 00:17:43.640 --> 00:17:50.059 own faint breathing. Then at 3 .07 AM. Click. 00:17:50.700 --> 00:17:56.180 Click. A pause. A soft scrape. Something small 00:17:56.180 --> 00:18:00.279 dragging plastic against plastic. Then click. 00:18:01.079 --> 00:18:04.819 I rewind and listen again. The scrape is there. 00:18:05.400 --> 00:18:09.579 Delicate. Not a mouse. Not a loose panel. Something 00:18:09.579 --> 00:18:12.500 small moving with purpose. Like it has a checklist 00:18:12.500 --> 00:18:15.700 and is working through it. I find it on the floor 00:18:15.700 --> 00:18:19.079 near the gasket seam. A sliver. Thin as a needle. 00:18:19.220 --> 00:18:21.660 Dark at one end. Caught in the rubber like it 00:18:21.660 --> 00:18:24.769 got lodged mid -flight. I pinch it between my 00:18:24.769 --> 00:18:28.130 fingers. Too light to be metal but stiff, the 00:18:28.130 --> 00:18:32.069 tip sharp enough to catch my skin. A dart. I 00:18:32.069 --> 00:18:33.769 set it on the counter and look at the fridge 00:18:33.769 --> 00:18:37.769 for a long time. Then I text Mike. What is in 00:18:37.769 --> 00:18:41.750 the fridge? Three dots. Longer than before. You 00:18:41.750 --> 00:18:45.400 saw it. No, I type, not yet, but I have footprints 00:18:45.400 --> 00:18:48.440 in my butter and a dart in my gasket, and an 00:18:48.440 --> 00:18:50.619 audio recording of something moving around in 00:18:50.619 --> 00:18:54.400 there at 3am, so I think we're past quirky. A 00:18:54.400 --> 00:18:58.220 pause, then... Don't look directly at it. Use 00:18:58.220 --> 00:19:00.720 a reflection if you have to look. It doesn't 00:19:00.720 --> 00:19:03.400 like being seen. It will correct you. Correct 00:19:03.400 --> 00:19:06.400 me how? I type. The dots appear and disappear 00:19:06.400 --> 00:19:09.420 twice before his answer comes through. You've 00:19:09.420 --> 00:19:12.200 already met the dart. I put the phone face down 00:19:12.200 --> 00:19:15.269 on the counter. I stand in my kitchen in my socks 00:19:15.269 --> 00:19:18.730 looking at a $60 beige refrigerator that contains 00:19:18.730 --> 00:19:21.470 something with a job and a weapon and apparently 00:19:21.470 --> 00:19:24.650 a professional objection to being known and I 00:19:24.650 --> 00:19:27.210 think about the pinprick holes in the gasket 00:19:27.210 --> 00:19:29.690 seam that were already there when I bought it, 00:19:29.769 --> 00:19:32.950 evenly spaced, like someone had tested the same 00:19:32.950 --> 00:19:36.289 spots over and over. Like this has happened before. 00:19:36.710 --> 00:19:39.710 Like Mike knew exactly what corrected meant because 00:19:39.710 --> 00:19:42.869 it had been corrected into him. I pick the phone 00:19:42.869 --> 00:19:46.910 back up. Why are you blind? I type. The dots 00:19:46.910 --> 00:19:51.089 appear. Disappear. Appear again. I tried to catch 00:19:51.089 --> 00:19:53.549 it in a reflection. I go to Mike's apartment 00:19:53.549 --> 00:19:56.049 the next day because I don't know what else to 00:19:56.049 --> 00:19:59.609 do. Going to the police is impossible. Calling 00:19:59.609 --> 00:20:02.910 my landlord is a joke. Texting Tasha would turn 00:20:02.910 --> 00:20:06.049 me into a story she tells at parties. Remember 00:20:06.049 --> 00:20:08.190 when Maya thought there was a gremlin in her 00:20:08.190 --> 00:20:32.940 fridge? What? He says, I need to understand what's 00:20:32.940 --> 00:20:37.160 in there, I say. He steps back. Kitchen. His 00:20:37.160 --> 00:20:39.440 apartment is even more deliberately arranged 00:20:39.440 --> 00:20:42.359 than I remembered. Tape along the counter edges, 00:20:42.640 --> 00:20:45.140 a textured strip running the length of the hallway 00:20:45.140 --> 00:20:48.019 wall. Furniture positioned so nothing is ever 00:20:48.019 --> 00:20:50.720 in the way. A space designed to be navigated 00:20:50.720 --> 00:20:54.359 without sight. He stands at the sink, hands braced 00:20:54.359 --> 00:20:57.880 on the counter. You're going to ask me why? He 00:20:57.880 --> 00:21:01.799 says, yes. Because you think if there's a why, 00:21:02.099 --> 00:21:06.019 there's a fix. I don't answer because he's right. 00:21:06.180 --> 00:21:08.940 He turns his head slightly, oriented toward the 00:21:08.940 --> 00:21:12.740 sound of my breathing. It's not angry. He says. 00:21:12.980 --> 00:21:17.119 It's not cruel. Then why the dart? It doesn't 00:21:17.119 --> 00:21:20.039 want to be known. He says. That's not malice. 00:21:20.039 --> 00:21:22.900 That's procedure. You became a problem the moment 00:21:22.900 --> 00:21:28.119 you started looking. I swallow. So, it just lives 00:21:28.119 --> 00:21:44.019 in appliances? Mike's mouth tightens. A system, 00:21:44.339 --> 00:21:53.759 I say. He says, correcting the way you say a 00:21:53.759 --> 00:21:55.880 word, you've had a long time to get used to. 00:21:56.339 --> 00:22:00.160 Flat. Final. Like a door that doesn't open anymore. 00:22:01.069 --> 00:22:03.869 I think about the butter lid pressed back down 00:22:03.869 --> 00:22:07.190 neatly. The tape receded. The clicks on schedule. 00:22:07.569 --> 00:22:12.210 Every interference I made, quietly undone. Did 00:22:12.210 --> 00:22:15.710 it make you blind? I ask. He lifts a hand and 00:22:15.710 --> 00:22:18.890 touches the rim of his sunglasses. I caught it 00:22:18.890 --> 00:22:21.950 in a spoon, he says, in the glossy side of the 00:22:21.950 --> 00:22:24.250 fridge door, just long enough to confirm the 00:22:24.250 --> 00:22:28.230 joke. He lowers his hand. It didn't chase me. 00:22:28.309 --> 00:22:30.609 It didn't attack me. It corrected the witness. 00:22:31.029 --> 00:22:35.849 The word witness lands wrong. Too official. Like 00:22:35.849 --> 00:22:39.509 I've been entered into a record somewhere. So 00:22:39.509 --> 00:22:42.769 you solved the problem by making it someone else's, 00:22:42.769 --> 00:22:47.849 I say. His jaw tightens. I got rid of it. That's 00:22:47.849 --> 00:22:50.690 not solving it. That's just moving it down the 00:22:50.690 --> 00:22:55.849 street. Silence. Then... No. He says quietly. 00:22:56.450 --> 00:23:00.509 It's not. I force myself to ask the thing I've 00:23:00.509 --> 00:23:04.650 been not asking since I walked in. How do I get 00:23:04.650 --> 00:23:09.470 it out? Mike's head tilts. You don't. I can unplug 00:23:09.470 --> 00:23:13.450 it. I can... It doesn't need your power, he says, 00:23:13.490 --> 00:23:15.529 and there's something almost bitter in his voice 00:23:15.529 --> 00:23:18.690 now. It's not a ghost. It's not electricity. 00:23:19.190 --> 00:23:21.630 Your fridge is just where the job happens right 00:23:21.630 --> 00:23:25.380 now. I stand there with my hands clenched, running 00:23:25.380 --> 00:23:28.400 the logistics in my head because logistics are 00:23:28.400 --> 00:23:30.799 what my brain does when it can't handle the alternative. 00:23:31.500 --> 00:23:35.000 I can't keep it. I can't throw it out without 00:23:35.000 --> 00:23:37.740 passing it somewhere. And passing it somewhere 00:23:37.740 --> 00:23:41.220 is exactly what Mike did. And I am standing in 00:23:41.220 --> 00:23:43.660 his carefully taped apartment, looking at where 00:23:43.660 --> 00:23:46.660 his eyes used to work. And I understand it completely. 00:23:47.200 --> 00:23:51.279 And I hate that I understand it. I have to go. 00:23:51.819 --> 00:23:56.279 I say. Mike nods once. Don't look again. He says. 00:23:56.480 --> 00:24:00.059 At the door I stop because apparently I am constitutionally 00:24:00.059 --> 00:24:03.680 incapable of leaving well enough alone. What 00:24:03.680 --> 00:24:07.140 happens if someone else sees it? I ask. His answer 00:24:07.140 --> 00:24:10.839 comes immediately. Then it corrects them. Back 00:24:10.839 --> 00:24:12.940 home I decide I can't live with it for another 00:24:12.940 --> 00:24:15.539 night. I stand in front of the fridge with a 00:24:15.539 --> 00:24:18.240 roll of duct tape and my phone in my pocket like 00:24:18.240 --> 00:24:22.259 it's a talisman. The fridge hums. The click comes 00:24:22.259 --> 00:24:26.579 once, then twice, steady as a pulse. I don't 00:24:26.579 --> 00:24:29.740 open the door. I kneel and yank the plug from 00:24:29.740 --> 00:24:32.440 the wall. The hum dies. The kitchen goes quiet 00:24:32.440 --> 00:24:35.720 in a way that feels wrong, like a sound got removed 00:24:35.720 --> 00:24:38.480 that was covering something else. I tape the 00:24:38.480 --> 00:24:41.579 door shut. One strip across the top, one across 00:24:41.579 --> 00:24:44.859 the middle, one across the bottom. Then I grip 00:24:44.859 --> 00:24:48.779 the sides and start to pull. The fridge is heavy. 00:24:49.319 --> 00:24:53.460 It fights me with pure physics, weight, and friction, 00:24:53.579 --> 00:24:57.200 and the way cheap linoleum grabs. I drag it an 00:24:57.200 --> 00:25:01.819 inch, then another. My breathing gets loud. Then, 00:25:01.920 --> 00:25:05.440 from inside the sealed, unpowered fridge, click. 00:25:05.839 --> 00:25:08.440 The light comes on. It shouldn't. There's no 00:25:08.440 --> 00:25:11.480 power. There's no reason. The click comes again, 00:25:11.680 --> 00:25:15.539 then again. Faster. A cluster, like a hand tapping. 00:25:17.039 --> 00:25:20.299 I stop moving. My gaze goes to the door seam 00:25:20.299 --> 00:25:23.220 where the gasket meets the frame. The thin line 00:25:23.220 --> 00:25:27.059 where light leaks out. I know better, Mike told 00:25:27.059 --> 00:25:29.980 me. The dart already told me. Every reasonable 00:25:29.980 --> 00:25:32.720 part of my brain is in complete agreement that 00:25:32.720 --> 00:25:35.809 I should not look. I pull a spoon from the drawer 00:25:35.809 --> 00:25:38.769 without thinking, the nearest reflective thing. 00:25:39.069 --> 00:25:41.670 My hand is shaking hard enough that the spoon 00:25:41.670 --> 00:25:44.529 rattles against my fingers. I angle it toward 00:25:44.529 --> 00:25:47.430 the gasket seam, toward the leaking line of light, 00:25:47.529 --> 00:25:51.130 like I'm trying to see without seeing. The spoon 00:25:51.130 --> 00:25:55.450 catches the glow. And there it is, small hunched 00:25:55.450 --> 00:25:58.509 shape behind the switch cavity. Goggles pushed 00:25:58.509 --> 00:26:02.650 up on its forehead, skin soot smudged, leathery. 00:26:03.049 --> 00:26:05.410 Mottled like something that has lived too close 00:26:05.410 --> 00:26:08.690 to heat and dust for too long. Pointed ears torn 00:26:08.690 --> 00:26:11.950 at the edges. Long, clever fingers working the 00:26:11.950 --> 00:26:14.490 switch mechanism with the focused patience of 00:26:14.490 --> 00:26:17.210 something that does this for a living. Then its 00:26:17.210 --> 00:26:20.630 eyes find the spoon. Two wet points of reflected 00:26:20.630 --> 00:26:24.930 light. It goes perfectly still. The grin it has. 00:26:25.289 --> 00:26:29.849 Wide, stupid, impish. slides off its face the 00:26:29.849 --> 00:26:32.369 dart comes so fast i don't process the motion 00:26:32.369 --> 00:26:36.430 a sharp sting near my right eye precise and immediate 00:26:36.430 --> 00:26:39.109 like a snapped rubber band against bare skin 00:26:39.109 --> 00:26:43.529 my eyelid spasms shut i gasp and drop the spoon 00:26:43.529 --> 00:26:45.930 and it clatters off the counter onto the floor 00:26:45.930 --> 00:26:49.529 hot tears flood my eye instantly the kitchen 00:26:49.529 --> 00:26:53.670 light blooms into a smear Edges warp in halo. 00:26:54.049 --> 00:26:56.910 I stagger back, one hand over my face, the other 00:26:56.910 --> 00:27:00.769 slapping at the counter. I don't go to the hospital. 00:27:01.029 --> 00:27:03.529 I sit on the kitchen floor with a bag of frozen 00:27:03.529 --> 00:27:06.769 peas pressed to my eye and my phone open to search 00:27:06.769 --> 00:27:11.309 results I can't focus on properly. Eye injury 00:27:11.309 --> 00:27:14.670 needle puncture. The internet offers two options. 00:27:14.950 --> 00:27:18.410 You're fine or you're dying with nothing in between. 00:27:19.079 --> 00:27:22.559 I laugh once, sharp and ugly, because this is 00:27:22.559 --> 00:27:25.319 where my life is now. My vision on the right 00:27:25.319 --> 00:27:29.720 side is softer. Bright lights flare, edges smear. 00:27:30.380 --> 00:27:33.339 When I blink, the world tries to stitch itself 00:27:33.339 --> 00:27:37.079 back together and mostly succeeds. I think about 00:27:37.079 --> 00:27:40.960 calling Tasha. I think about saying, hey, do 00:27:40.960 --> 00:27:43.299 you have a minute? I got darted by the fridge 00:27:43.299 --> 00:27:47.359 man. I picture her face. I don't call. I think 00:27:47.359 --> 00:27:50.140 about dragging it outside anyway, and then I 00:27:50.140 --> 00:27:52.720 look at my swollen eye and I hear Mike's voice, 00:27:52.960 --> 00:27:57.579 flat and certain. It corrects them. I'm not corrected 00:27:57.579 --> 00:28:02.220 enough. Not yet, but I understand now that corrected 00:28:02.220 --> 00:28:05.720 is a direction, not a destination, and I don't 00:28:05.720 --> 00:28:09.140 want to find out where it ends. So I do the worst 00:28:09.140 --> 00:28:12.339 thing, which is also the only thing. I decide 00:28:12.339 --> 00:28:15.480 to pass it on. I take the duct tape off carefully 00:28:15.480 --> 00:28:17.779 because I don't want to provoke anything. The 00:28:17.779 --> 00:28:20.859 tape peels away slow and the fridge door swings 00:28:20.859 --> 00:28:23.519 open easy like it's happy to be back at work. 00:28:24.440 --> 00:28:28.259 The light is on. Of course it is. I don't stare 00:28:28.259 --> 00:28:31.970 at the bulb. I don't... Angle spoons. I remove 00:28:31.970 --> 00:28:34.470 my groceries without making eye contact with 00:28:34.470 --> 00:28:36.970 anything and close the door. The click comes 00:28:36.970 --> 00:28:40.490 immediately after. Steady and calm. I sit down 00:28:40.490 --> 00:28:43.529 at my laptop and open Marketplace. My hands hover 00:28:43.529 --> 00:28:46.710 over the keyboard. I type, old refrigerator. 00:28:47.109 --> 00:28:52.569 Works great. $60. Pick up today. I stop. I stare 00:28:52.569 --> 00:28:55.150 at my own words like they belong to someone else. 00:28:55.450 --> 00:28:58.910 I add, light flickers sometimes. Probably wiring. 00:28:59.519 --> 00:29:02.039 My fingers shake. I start to type a warning. 00:29:02.259 --> 00:29:05.299 There is something inside it. I delete it. I 00:29:05.299 --> 00:29:08.460 type it as a joke. Fridge man included. No extra 00:29:08.460 --> 00:29:13.119 charge. I delete that too. I type cash only. 00:29:13.460 --> 00:29:17.779 I hit post. The act feels small. Clicking a button. 00:29:17.920 --> 00:29:20.779 Moving on. But my stomach twists like I've just 00:29:20.779 --> 00:29:23.059 signed something in a language I only half understand. 00:29:23.500 --> 00:29:27.180 Within the hour, a message pops up. A guy named 00:29:27.180 --> 00:29:31.920 Kyle's profile picture, baseball cap, dorm room 00:29:31.920 --> 00:29:34.539 mirror selfie, the particular glow of someone 00:29:34.539 --> 00:29:37.180 who has not yet learned that cheap is never just 00:29:37.180 --> 00:29:40.039 cheap. Is it still available? My throat tightens. 00:29:40.700 --> 00:29:45.440 Yes, I type. Can you pick up tonight? Yeah, my 00:29:45.440 --> 00:29:48.579 roommate and I can come. I close the laptop and 00:29:48.579 --> 00:29:51.640 look at my kitchen. The beige fridge sits there 00:29:51.640 --> 00:29:54.799 humming. Light clicking occasionally behind the 00:29:54.799 --> 00:29:58.099 closed door, doing its job like I was never part 00:29:58.099 --> 00:30:02.059 of this. I find myself thinking about Mike's 00:30:02.059 --> 00:30:05.559 apartment. The tape along the counters, the textured 00:30:05.559 --> 00:30:08.519 strip on the wall, the careful empty corners, 00:30:08.940 --> 00:30:12.539 his hands braced on the sink like a rail. I think 00:30:12.539 --> 00:30:16.779 about the way he said, corrected. I close my 00:30:16.779 --> 00:30:20.019 eyes. I tell myself, I'm doing this because I 00:30:20.019 --> 00:30:24.549 have no choice. Then I tell myself the truth, 00:30:24.589 --> 00:30:27.529 which is that I have a choice and I'm making 00:30:27.529 --> 00:30:30.130 it anyway. And the only difference between me 00:30:30.130 --> 00:30:32.970 and Mike is that I haven't found a way to call 00:30:32.970 --> 00:30:36.190 it something else yet. Kyle and his roommate 00:30:36.190 --> 00:30:39.789 show up at 740, cheerful and oblivious, smelling 00:30:39.789 --> 00:30:44.410 like cheap cologne and takeout. Wow. Kyle says, 00:30:44.529 --> 00:30:48.789 stepping into my kitchen. Old school. Yeah, I 00:30:48.789 --> 00:30:52.099 say my voice sounds normal. I don't know how. 00:30:52.099 --> 00:30:54.880 He opens the door. The light flares bright and 00:30:54.880 --> 00:30:58.960 steady. He grins. Nice. It even has a light. 00:30:59.359 --> 00:31:03.259 I look away. He closes the door. A second later, 00:31:03.579 --> 00:31:09.819 click. Kyle pauses. Huh. Old wiring, I say. The 00:31:09.819 --> 00:31:11.859 lie comes out smooth like I've been saying it 00:31:11.859 --> 00:31:17.160 for years. Relay thing. Kyle shrugs. Yeah, my 00:31:17.160 --> 00:31:20.140 last fridge did that. We load it into the truck. 00:31:20.240 --> 00:31:22.900 I keep my eyes away from reflective surfaces 00:31:22.900 --> 00:31:27.400 the whole time. Spoons, windows, the chrome on 00:31:27.400 --> 00:31:30.980 the truck bumper. My whole body is tuned to angles 00:31:30.980 --> 00:31:36.480 and glass. Kyle hands me three 20s. Thanks me. 00:31:36.839 --> 00:31:39.400 Tells me to have a good night. I nod like a normal 00:31:39.400 --> 00:31:42.680 person. Then they drive away. My kitchen is suddenly 00:31:42.680 --> 00:31:45.740 too empty. The space where the fridge sat looks 00:31:45.740 --> 00:31:48.859 like a missing tooth. I stand in the doorway 00:31:48.859 --> 00:31:51.740 for a long moment, listening for a click that 00:31:51.740 --> 00:31:56.420 isn't there anymore. My eye throbs. The world 00:31:56.420 --> 00:31:59.000 on the right side still looks slightly wrong, 00:31:59.119 --> 00:32:01.619 like the sharpness got turned down and nobody 00:32:01.619 --> 00:32:04.880 told me where the setting is. I shut the door, 00:32:05.180 --> 00:32:09.019 lock it, lean my forehead against it and breathe. 00:32:09.900 --> 00:32:13.079 My phone buzzes an hour later, a message from 00:32:13.079 --> 00:32:17.470 Kyle. Hey, sorry, dumb question. Is it normal 00:32:17.470 --> 00:32:19.849 to find little footprints in the butter? I stare 00:32:19.849 --> 00:32:22.569 at the screen with one good eye. My thumb hovers. 00:32:22.670 --> 00:32:26.529 I start typing a reassuring lie. Yeah, old fridges 00:32:26.529 --> 00:32:30.109 are weird. Probably just... I stop. The cursor 00:32:30.109 --> 00:32:36.210 blinks. On. Off. On. Off. Like a tiny bulb doing 00:32:36.210 --> 00:32:41.890 its job. I don't finish the text. And that was 00:32:41.890 --> 00:32:45.940 Footprints in the Butter. The little man was 00:32:45.940 --> 00:32:50.079 doing his job. He always was. The tragedy isn't 00:32:50.079 --> 00:32:52.700 the dart. It's that she set up the butter trap. 00:32:52.980 --> 00:32:56.559 She already knew. She just needed to be sure. 00:32:57.279 --> 00:33:00.740 If you want more, follow Macabre Miscellanea 00:33:00.740 --> 00:33:03.700 here. And if you prefer your nightmares with 00:33:03.700 --> 00:33:06.619 visuals, the full video version is on YouTube. 00:33:07.200 --> 00:33:12.259 Until next time. Remember, curiosity doesn't 00:33:12.259 --> 00:33:14.299 kill you. It just corrects you.