Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday. ------ [TRANSCRIPT] [content warning: reference to vomiting, dead bodies] [click, static] “Call me Fox”. That’s all you have to say for yourself? After what you just— [click, static] I’m not going to call you anything. I don’t know what—or who— Do you know Birdie? You must, right? Birdie and Fox, both communicating only through morse code…who the hell are you people? What did you do to that— [click, static] (a dark laugh) Well, now I know. Now I know that there are other people in the world. Or, were. There have been, this whole time. If I had to guess, I’d say that that woman had been dead for…a few months maybe? If I had just— [click, static] Why would you do this? Why would you send me to find a stranger’s corpse?  [click, static]  I…I slept in my car last night. Which isn’t exactly new for me, but it felt different, knowing that I was parked outside a perfectly good house with a perfectly good guest room—I’ve slept in plenty of strangers’ homes, in plenty of guest rooms and master bedrooms and children’s rooms and all of them—all of them—have been empty.  For the past six months—hell, for the past six years, I have dreamt about finding a house that isn’t empty. I’ve imagined what it would be like, not just to sleep in a guest room, but to be someone’s guest.  I cannot be a guest in that house. You can’t be guest when the host is lying in their own bed, eyes shut like they’re— [click, static] I got sick. In the house, yesterday, about fifteen minutes before I tried to contact you. I, um, I threw up right on their bedroom carpet. I—I cleaned it up eventually. I don’t know, it felt like the right thing to do, like, polite, you know even if the whole house already smelled like— [click, static]  I’ve seen a dead body before. It isn't that. I watched both my parents die, I saw a really terrible motorcycle accident on the highway once. But those were…for lack of a better term, they were, um, fresh. Which is its own kind of horror, but what’s in there, what’s in that house, the decay of it. The…the loneliness.  [click, static] I don’t want to be found like that. I don’t want to find Harry like that. But if we both—I mean, is there anyone left to do the finding? There—I still can’t get over the fact that someone was here. Not a person from six years ago with a body that somehow stuck around, but someone who has been here, who died, it seems, peacefully in their sleep sometime in the last year. I don’t know anything about what happens to a body after it dies, but I know that the body inside that house has not been lying there for six years.  Why? Why did you do this? Do you have any idea just how cruel it is? To show me that someone was here all along, and that I’m too late? [click, static] [beeps] -.. .. -.. -. - / -.- -. --- .-- didn't know