Episode NotesBlake has been tasked with going into the crawlspace to find the source of a putrid odor, but that was only the tip of the iceberg of morbid insanity that awaits him.The Dead Thing Under the House by David O'HanlonMusic by Ray Mattishttp://raymattispresents.bandcamp.comProduced by Daniel WilderGet Cool Merchandise http://store.weeklyspookySupport us on Patreon http://patreon.com/IncrediblyHandsomeContact Us/Submit a Storytwitter.com/WeeklySpookyfacebook.com/WeeklySpookyWeeklySpooky@gmail.comThis episode sponsored by HenFlix.comFor everything else visit WeeklySpooky.comTranscription:Old Man Jennings ventured from his home on Sundays. He’d amble down the gravel path that led from his porch to his mailbox for the weekly accumulation of sales ads and bills, and promptly retreat into seclusion. In Blake’s thirty-one years, he’d never seen anyone come to visit Meadowview’s mysterious hermit. Once a week, a lawncare service came out to take care of his yard. Twice a year, someone power washed his siding. He paid them all with a check, slipped through the mail slot, when they were finished.A barred door with two locks hung on both the front and rear of the house and they stayed shut. He would open the ornate front door with its beveled stained-glass window to enjoy the weather, but never the security door. His windows were much the same with heavy, blackout curtains on the inside and bars on the out. His groceries were delivered promptly at one in the afternoon, every Thursday for as long as Blake could remember. A little doggie-door, for lack of a better term, would lift out and Jennings would pull the bags through to the obscure solitude of his self-imposed prison.Theorizing about what went on inside the home was a Meadowview pastime as familiar as the annual crawdad boil or the town’s community yard sale. Depending on who you asked, Old Man Jennings was a Satanist, a serial killer, or a space alien. Some people even believed he was already dead and his ghost was just stuck there. Blake didn’t believe any of it. The ancient coot would have to leave the house to murder people, after all. As kids, Blake and his friends dedicated enough hours spying on the man to know that never happened. As an adult, his divorce had forced him to move back in with his mother… directly across the street from Jennings. Blake found himself peering through the blinds out of habit and the geezer still stayed locked inside, just like he always had.So, it would be an understatement to say Blake was shocked to find Old Man Jennings standing on the porch when he answered the geriatric’s frantic knocking. Jennings’ hair was an explosion of white that jutted from his dark scalp in all directions. The mane was much more ample than Blake’s own, which was retreating faster than a chubby kid at fat camp. Jennings stood on the porch with the grim stature and utter silence of an animated skeleton. Blake shut the door, removed the chain lock and opened it fully.“Mister Jennings, are you lost?”“No,” Jennings said. “There’s something dead in my crawlspace.”Blake squinted at the elderly man. “Pretty sure there’s people that take care of that.”“There is, but I don’t like strangers.” Jennings pointed a bony, accusatory finger at Blake. “That’s why I came to you. I’ve known you longer than anyone.”“We don’t really know each other, though,” Blake muttered in confusion.“Then how did you know my name?” Jennings’ lips peeled away from toothbrush-commercial quality chompers in what might have been a genuine smile. “Is your mother home?”Blake shook his head. “She’s in Toledo, visiting my sister.”“Oh? How is Sharon? Still married to that banker?” Jennings looked away and tsked. “Sorry, about your own divorce, by the by.”Blake’s jaw dropped open. “How’d you know about that?”“Just because I don’t leave my house doesn’t mean I don’t talk to my neighbors.” Jennings shrugged. “Your mother’s been my pen pal since 1984.”Blake looked over Jennings’ shoulder at his home. “My mo