Creepypasta

They can hear you (~part 5)

Hai everyone /.\ here's the next part of the story :v once again I apologize for taking so long to update :,v anyways enjoy!
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(=•w•=)~

Two A.M., Friday

Greg sat on his couch as a slave to the frequencies, flipping through channels looking for a broadcast pot of gold. It was late at night and Greg was still wide awake, he had gotten used to it. His adjustment to the life style of night shift workers came much quicker than expected, but after three days of work he figured he was in full swing.
It wasn't all so bad for him. The first two days were hard as he had trouble sleeping while the sun was out and eating breakfast when he would have normally been eating dinner. But even his appetite seemed to adjust rather quickly, and once he had it down he found that he took to the change like he had been doing it for years. He figured his previous college years might have helped him out some. Greg had gone to plenty of parties in his four year tenure at college, and he knew what it meant to stay up all night and sleep all day. He was just glad he wouldn't have to juggle the job along with college classes; he was long passed that possibility.
There was also the dissipation of little to no cars out on the roads at night. Greg had always considered his town was full of idiot drivers. So when night fell and the day jobbers went to rest, he and the other sparse few who owned the night took to the roads with miniscule hindrance during commute. Unfortunate that half his trip to work was occupied by the single road that drove out to the isolated cemetery, he wouldn't mind driving a longer distance if it meant enjoying the midnight rides that much more.
The change had its downsides though. For one most locations around town wouldn't open until ten A.M. or later. This meant that when Greg would get off at six in the morning, the only places he could go were back to his studio apartment or twenty-four hour breakfast joints. That was something he hadn't yet adjusted to, breakfast at dinner time (or vice versa) just didn't seem right.
Another disadvantage was late night television. To those who normally sleep through the night it may seem rather submissive, but for those who have time off and are adjusted to night schedules, the television becomes a crutch of displeasure. Every channel either had hour long infomercials or sappy shows that only insomniacs could find enjoyment out of in their intrepid states. Greg began to wish for the old days when TV stations would sign off, play the national anthem, and then cut to a long drone of static. At least it would give him an excuse to go do something else.
But sacrifices had to be made in order to work his current position, and at the end of the day (or rather night) Greg was able to accept his current place in life. The job paid well and was easy enough. Sure it could get boring at times, and the night life was abysmal in comparison to the hustle and bustle of the day, but Greg wasn't one to be picky. If he was, he would still be a college grad searching for his big break within his field of study, and that would mean no money was coming in. Acceptable losses; surprisingly they didn't teach that in business school.
Greg continued to flip channels until he eventually hit a winner. Showing in its original unaltered state was George Romero's "Night of the Living Dead." While it was made way before he was even born, Greg had seen the film multiple times before and retained the knowledge to know that it was a bonafide horror classic. As he watched the makeup zombies sluggishly eat the flesh of their victim's bones in black and white filtration, he couldn't help but see right through the façade of "movie magic." Granted, 1968 wasn't anywhere near the technological prowess of 2015, but he still didn't find any of the scenes truly fear inducing. And at this point in Hollywood cinema, Greg figured zombies had been severely overdone to death. He chuckled lightly at his own comedic prowess.
He needed something new and fresh to shake up the zombie genre, something to separate the future from the works of the past. Fictitious brain dead corpses stalking prey like cumbersome lions in the savannah just wasn't cutting it for Greg's definition of true horror.
But that's all it was to him; fictitious.

~/.\ [credit to original author] okay guys hope you are enjoying this story so far ^-^ I will try and keep posting night night lovelies