S15E07 - "The Restless Dead" - Horror Hill

**Erik Peabody** (0:02)
Chilling Tales for Dark Nights.
The following program is a production of Chilling Entertainment and the creative team at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights and a proud member of the Simply Scary Podcast Network. Visit simplyscarypodcast.com to learn more about this and our other weekly storytelling programs and become a patron today to show your support and get instant access to our extensive archive of downloadable tales of terror. Thank you for listening and enjoy the show.
Disclaimer, Horror Hill is a horror anthology podcast bringing you scary stories from all corners of the internet and beyond. As such, certain stories include content that some listeners might find offensive. Listener discretion is advised.
Hello, listeners, and welcome back to Horror Hill. I'm your host and narrator, Erik Peabody. Tonight, I've got a double feature for you with two stories about one of my favorite conversational icebreakers, The Restless Dead. To start, we have I Play Music to the Dead, Today They Played One Back by Grant Hinton. Sean, an undertaker, always goes the extra mile when preparing the recently deceased for their final journey. For example, he picks a special song for each person as he's tending to them. He knows that they appreciate this because their spirits sit in and watch him during the process. But one day, his musical selection suddenly changes, and he's about to realize that he's not the only one controlling his macabre musical movements. Then, to close out the evening, we'll crack into Shortcut by Micah Edwards. Long drives can be horror stories all on their own, and are all the worse when stuck in endless traffic. So, while on the way to visit family, Simon jumps at the chance to take an alternate route suggested by his GPS. This new road is surprisingly bereft of other vehicles. But what initially seems like a stroke of luck, is about to send Simon down a road of nightmares.
You're listening to the free edition of this program. If you'd like to help support Horror Hill and also remove these pesky ads, head to chillingtalesfordarknights.com and click Patrons in the upper menu to sign up today. You'll get instant access to hundreds of ad-free stories. So what are you waiting for? Also if you're watching on YouTube or Rumble, do us a favor and drop a like and subscribe. Become part of our dark circle, listeners.
And now, from author Grant Hinton, I give you, I play music to the dead. Today they played one back.
I've always found dead bodies fun to play with. Ever since I was a kid, I've been fascinated the way the skin changes color, and the body deflates like it's been emptied out. How the eyes always creep open the teeniest bit when you really want them to stay shut. It's creepy, I know.
It was my uncle Tom who gave me this morbid curiosity when he died. I was only 12 at the time. I remember his open casket well.
She meant well, but from that point on, it was too late. I was hooked.
Uncle Tom wasn't glamorous in death. Years of drinking and smoking aged his body from the inside out. I'm surprised the mortician made him presentable. He was a mess, not like Linda here. She's elegant, refined, equally as dead, mind you, but much more glamorous.
I put it down to my playlist. As soon as Linda was brought into the morgue, I had visions of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. She was regally tall, with an angled face and buttoned nose. Frank Sinatra's love is a many-splendored thing entered my mind, and I knew in that instance that it was perfect for her.
I played it on repeat when I prepared Linda for her funeral. Since day one, I found that every person has a song. As I put the small spiked cups under their eyelids to keep them closed or superglue their mouth shut, their melodies create a perfect atmosphere, a resonance to their deaths.
The lady next to me smiles and squeezes my hand. I turn and smile back before Linda's hand disappears from mine. I rise from the chair amidst the grieving faces, the chair next to me now vacant, and leave the gallery and Linda's funeral. My job was apparent on the smiling, tear-tracked faces of her family.
They're going to find out that you're not part of the party one day, Sean. I turn to see John, the funeral home owner and my employer, in his plain gray suit and tie. His thin eyebrows rise, and a look of mild concern clouds his face. They don't see me, I say noncommittally, motioning to the sea of people. Grief blinds them. Plus, I like to observe. I know John doesn't mind, not really. He just has to say it so he can protect himself from any complaints.