Lot 117 : Harmony Care Home V

When we had the idea to build a site for our Antiquarium merch,

“could he shared scandals, blankets, even secret to coders? I had no idea what I was doing.”

I've got zero web design know how, even at its most basic. Then I remembered something I would see whenever I would order stuff from some of my favorite vendors, and that will shopify. I signed up real quick just to play around with it for a bit. I was shocked that all the tools I was looking for were right there. Within an hour, the Antiquarium shop dot in my shopify.com was alive. I'm not exaggerating.

I couldn't believe how simple, fast, and honestly rewarding it was to use.

They've got hundreds of ready-to-use templates, so you can build a store that actually matches your brand, looks pro, guide your personality without needing to be a designer, what's so ever. It even automated and calculated shipping, which I thought was going to be a nightmare. You don't even need to stand in long lines to post office to wait things in. That's all done with. Go in, drop it off, get on with your day.

“Run discounts, promo codes, email campaigns, shopify gives you everything you need to grow.”

If you've been sitting on an idea and asking yourself what if, listen, don't let anything stand in your way. It's time to turn those what ifs into with shopify today. They've given us a special opportunity to pass along to you, the Antiquarium guest. It's a $1 per month trial. Get it by typing shopify.com/tash. That shopify.com/tash. I wish we had access to this when we launched ours.

Shopify.com/tash. We use it. We love it. We are so excited to see it empower you to make your dreams a reality. Send us a link, show us what you do with it so we can buy some of your stuff. Shopify rules. The following is chapter 5 of a six-part lot. For an ad-free experience visit the Obsidian Covenant.com. Good to see you as per usual old friend. And as per usual, another day, another consignment has joined the shelves.

It calls your name. Yes, this one arrived folded in a small envelope with no return address.

I almost discarded it at first. Look like nothing more than an old bingo card.

The kind passed out in church basements and retirement homes. But then I noticed the name written across the top. Jack. I am told this came from a place called Harmony Care Home. You know, it sounds so familiar. And I don't quite know why. Now then, if you listen closely, you may begin to understand how a simple game of chance can become something far more binding. This is Harmony Care Home. Chapter 5. Before we begin, I want to point out some of the customers

whose names have been etched in brass on this beautiful plaque I had made above the front desk. These are some of the members of the inner circle of the Antiquarium. We go by the Obsidian Covenant. Recent initiates include Alicia Acre, Trash Panda Coot, Bloody Legacy, Eliza, Jackson Cruse, Sam, well, that's a thing. And Doctor Who. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the order. Go to the Obsidian Covenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Sounds harmless enough, right? Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, and odd goings on. . There's an old bingo card with my name on it. When I hold it,

“I can almost remember playing, wiling the hours away, while I was a prisoner at Harmony Care Home.”

I've been reading my old Reddit posts, decoding the messages, and now I'm pretty sure that I wrote them for Emma. The Qi and I had hatched some sort of plan that she was out there,

If I'm right, then this. The post dated November 26th, 2023 holds the final part of my coded plan.

“Are you ready for it? As Taylor Swift says, it reads,”

"Hey folks, welcome. Glad you can make it. I'm Jack, the new manager at Harmony Care Home, or we are ready to welcome your ailing elders and guarantee a smooth transition to caring, compassionate, harm, onus senior living." Sorry, did I tell the size, Harm? That was a typo. I'm here to help you through the process, from application to move it. Let me give you a tour. If you've been keeping up with my posts, you're already familiar with the chicken soup,

dust jacket version of Harmony Care Home, and for those who haven't been keeping up, the dust jacket

is my clever way of referencing the dual nature of the care home. It's like a Stephen King book,

but with a chicken soup for the soul covered thrown on it, so that it seems like the sort of heart-warning story you'd want to read to Grandma. She lives out her last days here.

“Sorry, did I say heart-warning? That was just another typo. Nothing to worry about.”

Entering the front doors, you'll find yourself in a summit lobby leading to the common room with tables full of white-haired seniors and happy chatter. But let's flip that chicken soup does jacket off now, huh? Let's suppose. Let's suppose you're able to see reality for just one moment. I'll start with the moment you enter these doors, there's the stench that waffles to your nostrils,

rank, and pungent, like mildew, and old garbage and rotting fucking meat. Huge forcations so potent, not even the chemical cleaners can mask it. Holding your nose while peering out across the dim and empty lobby. You'll notice figures in the common room. If you're brave enough to get closer, you'll be able to distinguish mummified old ladies and floral princesses and

decomposing old men and button downs and slacks, posed at the tables with playing cards. The creaking of a wheelchair, the pattern of spilled pills might alert you to the arrival of one of the more mobile deceased, like Gerard or Bird.

Odd men. I ran screaming the first few times that the living dead approached me,

but engaging with the recently departed is actually part of my managerial duties, so these days I stick around for a game of selfish. After all, I wouldn't want to get fired, like really, really wouldn't want to get fired. Incidentally, our numbers are at historic lows, meaning I've got quite the quarter to fill, and I've been told the vinyl filled with somebody soon, and that's somebody's gonna be me.

Shit. So, tell all your friends. I'm so looking forward to welcoming you on your visit. But wait a second, Jack. When did you become the fucking manager of Harmony Care Home? Aren't you supposed to be working on a plan to shut down that evil place? Duh. I'm in the middle of said plan right now, obviously.

“That's why I'm the manager. And as you can tell from my not-so-secret messages about being trapped in”

Room 313, it's all going great. But yes, let's talk about the plan. Part one. Become the manager. Jack. Part two. Sneak into the sub-basement and undo the ritual that opened the care home to the other side. Part two is obviously the more problematic part. Seeing now that I'm working here as manager, I am realizing that the only way I'd ever succeed in this mission is if I had the personality of somebody brave, or maybe somebody who likes some

homobees. Perhaps if I were the type of guy who reads a Stephen King story and says to himself, "It'll be great if the children of the corn were real." And I could babysit them. I better Jack who said that would do great at this mission. But since my favorite color is yellow, my favorite food is chicken and I have a debilitating medical condition that prevents me from descending stairs because I am "spineless." I'm not well-suited. And speaking of spines,

please don't let me return as one of those living dead. If I die here, cremate me. Lord knows I've burned it. I'd show myself out but as you all know, I'm fucking stuck. Right, so how did I wind up here room 313? Let's hop back in time now to the moment I'm attempting to carry out my actual mission. The moment I make my shaky way down the basement stairs

don't work because apparently the bulbs have never been replaced, like ever. So I'm navigating

“by flashlight as I tiptoe, cursing the debris that crunches under my shoes, making a silent descent”

impossible. And I want to be silent because I need to listen. At the last step before the bottom, I pause. And I do hear something. A soft shuffle somewhere down the hall. When I shift my flashlight shaky beam, my heart slams like a sledgehammer into my ribs. Because the light catches spare skin. There's an old man down here in the basement,

completely and unsettlingly naked. His name is Ronnie. Room 2-2-4.

From his shaking and mumbling, it's clear he's alive and not one of the living dead. One of the handful of living residents whom the care home feeds on until their minds and bodies

“decay. Application still open a ranger visit today. Behind him, he's left a trail of bloody”

footprints. Fresh, red, glistening under my light. Probably from walking over the broken glass strewn on the floor. He's so far gone, I doubt he'll make it much longer. But I can't leave him here in the basement, especially overnight. So I call. Hey, Ronnie. It's birthday suit, man. Come on, let's get you back upstairs. Ronnie is shivering. His teeth chatter as he rotates his head to look at me. His eyes are sunken and red. Cheeks withered and spit off slacking his mouth.

He says, "It's coming real. It's coming for you." And he raises a trembling figure and points at me. Okay, very unsettling. Come on, Ronnie. Still shivering as he takes a step toward me, as if to follow me. But then the slap of his feet on the ground stop. I turn back and he is shaking harder. And then he goes still. The shaking stops. That's it. That's all the warning I get before

he touches. Scram, leading over a wheelchair in the hall, bounding off the wall and tipping the

chair over behind me so that Ronnie topples over and spills face first to the floor. I rush back

up the stairs and slam the door. And yeah, I probably shouldn't leave the old man who is still alive down there wandering around on broken glass with his bare souls, leaving bloody foot prints all over the place. But also, RIP Ronnie. But now, let's pause just a moment to backtrack because I realized where I left off the previous post. My eyes were stitched up and I just met the custodian. And though we got Emma's grandmother darlingly out, the care home took her friend

“Lucas. So let's talk about what happened that day. I can't exactly remember much of the aftermath.”

The notes I took are in my previous post, but beyond that, all I've really got to go under some sparse notes jotted by Emma. Plus a single video she took in the car on route to the hospital with me, Darlene, and Aaron. The video shows the disheveled old woman in a filthy sweater, clutching the future remains of a cat while rocking and babbling. The camera wobbles, and Emma's voice narrates her with a rumbling of the car engine.

Grims are covers, but we don't know if the effects are permanent. We had to leave Lucas behind, and this happened to Jack. The camera pans. In the shaky frame, a scruffy guy in a hoodie, face caked with blood from the stitches on his eyes and mouth. Jack, does it hurt? Are you going to be okay? The man in the hoodie spreads his hands. Trucks. The man makes a finger gun gesture. You got it.

Watching this clip, it's impossible to tell a video Jack's joke he behavior is because he has less horrified than everyone else since he cannot see his own face, or if he's just pretending.

In the second clip, I'm in the hospital after the stitches have been removed,

and I'm touching the skin beneath my eyes whispering in a panicy voice. Presumably because I can still see, and the Jack in this video is not turning his mangled face into jokes. His eyes are wide and fear, and the camera is shaking, and he's right at the brink of tears. And that's the Jack, who is written every post for you.

“Vericated in Room 313 while trying to sneak out secret messages.”

I'm telling you this so you understand, this video recap is all you're going to get at the elusive thing called honesty. I lie. I lie a lot. It's a coping mechanism. And a survival mechanism. I'm doing it more in this post than ever before. So, we reported Lucas missing to the authorities,

but of course the cops never followed up on their investigation into the care home. In fact,

it wasn't until several days after the raid. While Darlene was under observation at the hospital and I was home healing from my stitches, that Emma learned Lucas's fate. She did this by ringing the care homes front desk. We'd called before, only to reach the answering machine of the raspy female voice of a resident named Cleanie, always trying to entice us into visiting. But this time, a male voice on the other end politely said,

"There was a pause." Lucas and the line went dead, but it was definitely him. She told me later, "His voice, Lucas was alive and working at Harmony Carola." He thinks he's been working there for months, but it's his job. Emma exclaims to me two days later. She's just gotten off the phone with a mutual friend of theirs, Minji, who called the care home and spoke at length with Lucas. According to Minji, Lucas sounded and acted normal. Say for the fact he insisted he'd been employed at Harmony

Carola home for months. And when Minji worriedly asked him about his actual job as a firefighter,

“he'd known up on her. And let me guess, the offer great benefits and a fabulous retirement plan?”

It's not funny, Jack. Getting him out is going to be as dangerous as getting Darlene out was. I'm reviewing our notes, something I have to do every day because we're both still affected by the amnesia. Every morning, we wake clueless about each other and our mission until we find notes and video messages recapping our prior days. So by the time we meet each other every morning, I've my place since Emma likes to check in on Prometheus. We each feel like we've watched

short films of each other's lives. It's fucking awkward as shit. But I've always got vegan sausages

and oat milk in my fridge for Emma and she always brings me a caramel latte and bagel. Even though we meet as strangers, we can read each other with an intimate familiarity. It's weird. How the

“care home brings us together, but drives us apart at the same time. I want you to find a way to reverse”

this. The ritual. I say, one of my brain ponders the beginnings of the idea that we'll be in my deal. Yeah, but it'll never happen, Jack. Everything I've read says the same thing. To invite or unenvite the entity, we need to know its name or the name Rodrick used for it. And he didn't write it down. She slaps a hand on the stack of papers, letters, books, and various research material scattered over the table. She is right. That we've been through Rodrick's writings,

even a collection of short stories he penned that I suspect is a fictionalized account of his actual experiments. We've scoured everything down his postcards, and nothing about the custodian by that or any other name. But there is one place we haven't searched. If we play our cards right, I look up at Emma, we can use the Lucas where he is. He can search the Carol. Oh my god, do you hear yourself? Lucas will be safe at least for a while. How do you know that? Because the

Carol needs him. I pull up our spreadsheet on the Carol home's visitors, residents, and staff. Harmony Carol home's current situation is actually pretty precarious. Because the previous nurse Kendra Jones was retired after she saw through the illusions. Her manager, a woman named Felicia Singh, stayed late one evening and had to run in with the custodian. This means Harmony Carol

its operations. Lolita is there, of course, but she can't answer the phones or work the computer.

“We discovered when her voice didn't show up in recordings that she's part of the illusion.”

And while the Carol home may be supernatural, it operates in the physical world and requires living people to manage those operations. The number of residents has been dwindling. Currently, they're down to five. And since the residents are gradually having the life sucked out of them, unless new ones are brought in soon to replace them. The Carol home is in serious crisis. Simply put, Lolita can't afford to harm Lucas. She needs him to be the face of Harmony Carol.

Until she builds recruitment pack up, will never have a better opportunity to find the name.

I tell Emma. So she agrees. But it's futile. Not because Lucas refuses to help, he genuinely tries. Once we get him on the phone and congratulate him on his new job. No. The problem is, he's stuck in the illusion. On the phone with Emma, he shares Gossip about the dead residents, he even shouts, apologizing for the racket behind him. It's bingo night, everyone's yelling. Well, Emma and I here only dead silence beyond his own voice.

He sees only the dust jacket. No. We need someone who can break the illusion,

who knows exactly what to search for and has enough prior paranormal experience to identify when they found it. In short, it has to be me. Pardon the interruption friend. But look at that.

“I believe I just got a bingo. And that's odd. Possibly my prize being delivered. Let me go”

claim my winnings. What is going on my friend? My name is Trevor. I'm from the Acquisitions Department here at the Antiquarium. When we had the idea to build a site for our Antiquarium merch, hoodie shirts, candles, blankets, even secret to coders, I had no idea what I was doing. I got zero web design know how even at it's most basic. Then I remembered something I would see whenever I would order stuff from some of my favorite vendors and that will shopify. I signed up real quick

just to play around with it for a bit. I was shocked that all the tools I was looking for were right there. Within an hour, the Antiquarium shop dot my shopify.com was live. I'm not exaggerating. I couldn't believe how simple, fast, and honestly rewarding it was to use. They've got hundreds of ready to use templates so you can build a store that actually matches your brand, looks pro, got your personality, without needing to be a designer whatsoever. They've even automated and calculated shipping,

which I thought was going to be a nightmare. You don't even need to stand in long lines to the post office to weigh things in. That's all done with. Go in, drop it off, get on with your day,

“run discounts, promo codes, email campaigns, Shopify gives you everything you need to grow.”

If you've been sitting on an idea and asking yourself what if, listen, don't let anything stand in your way. It's time to turn those what ifs into with Shopify today. They've given us a special opportunity to pass along to you, the Antiquarium guest. It's a $1 per month trial. Get it by typing shopify.com/tash. That shopify.com/tas. I wish we had access to this when we launched ours. Shopify.com/tas. We use it. We love it. We are so excited to see it empower you to make your dreams

a reality. Send us a link, show us what you do with it so we can buy some of your stuff. Shopify rules. I told her to run. I knew that minute something terrible had happened. Why would somebody do this to him? Why would they try to hurt my baby? Search the Antiquarium with documented atrocities on Apple Spotify and wherever you get your podcasts.

that wasn't there before. Let's hope it's nothing and get back to the care home.

“Shall we? We need someone who can break the illusion, who knows exactly what to search for and”

has enough prior paranormal experience to identify when they found it. In short, it has to be me. After shutting Ronnie in the basement stairwell, I have only one other means of reading the ritual room. The elevator. I've searched everywhere else in the care home over the past few days, including Roderick's office, which is now the manager's suite and no trace of the name.

Based on Roderick's notes, it's most likely to be among the symbols and scripts on the walls

and ceiling in the ritual room. But if I enter that elevator, I have no means of escape should I encounter the custodian on the way down. From somewhere below, Ronnie Wales, sparking an idea.

“The night shift at Harmony Care Home is stark, lonely and silent. There is no illusion.”

The dust jacket comes off. And Lolita and her cohort of undead nurses see operations. All residents and staff return to their rooms to sequester for the night. Sometime after dark, the custodian appears. Any living being encountering the custodian at this time will be, cleaned up. The body, drained of life essence, are converted into a dead puppet for Lolita to control,

when she reappears with the illusion the next day. Shuffling around the basement corridor, Ronnie, is still living. The perfect unfortunate bait for the custodian while I take the elevator down to the ritual room. But I'll need to get the timing right. I switch on three of the lights near the reception desk in the common room and near the basement stairwell. And then I conceal myself behind a chair in the shadowed corner of

the lobby. The switch of the elevator doors. I strain my eyes. In the dim, I see only a tall shape. The sort of replay, figure. Almost like a person distorted through a filter and stretched floor to ceiling. There's a tingle like spiders on my skin. And then the light in the reception area flickers out, plunging the lobby into pitch. About 30 seconds later, the light in the common room goes out. And then finally, the light nearest the basement stairwell. As the entire main floor plunges

into darkness, I scuddle soundlessly to the elevator bay where the doors are still open. Press the button for the sub-basement and with a shutter. The janky old door's close and the elevator creaks into sense. Down. Down. Somewhere. Ronnie screams. I hurried to the door the ritual room

push it open. Hi Jack. The lead adjourns at me. Blue eyes, bright and glowing. I've never seen

her at night before. And she casts some eerie illumination. Even as she greets me, something spider-like shimmings across the ceiling. And another figure lunges from the floor. Kendra Jones and another nurse. They grabbed me and dragged me to the table. Slamming me to the center of mid-all the arcane symbols and writing. Low lead elines her chin on her hand as they strap me down. I really thought catching you would be more of a challenge.

But you're so predictable. Then my flesh begins to crawl. As if riddled with millions of spiders and a buzzing like electricity sets my hair on it. He's coming for you. Welcome to Harmony Care Home. That's a resident. Jack. I hope you enjoy your stay in room 313.

“I don't remember much after that. I only remember looking up at the ceiling. At the”

name hatched there, the wriggled in my brain and crawled like static in my skull. And then I was looking into the custodians face. That hole to some other place where its face should be.

was the static in my mind got louder and louder. One memory I clung to as if I could just keep that

“one. Maybe I could get through this that entirely losing myself. It's the last evening at my apartment.”

The night before I'll be going into a place Lucas and Emma and I go over the plant one final time. She's gotten some pad tie and stir-fried veggies for us to share with beer. It has all the solemnity of the last supper. How are you feeling? She asks. Great. I say and take a drink. Are you scared? Nope. Yes. Shittless. Duh. Are brow wrinkles. She shakes her head. Sets her hands in the table and says. Nope. Nope. We can't do this.

Oh, not again. What are you talking about? We've been over this again and again. It's a good fucking plan. Even if it's not, it's our only plan. It should be me. Oh, yeah agreed but it can't be so. How can you just be okay with this? I saw and set my beer down. Look, best case scenario we save Lucas. I am bezel some of that money they're sitting on. You have all your people back and we shut down harmony care home for good.

Where's case? I die. But you'll still have all your people back. You won't even have to remember me

“because once the amnesia kicks in, I'll just be that guy that's scammed your grandma. What are you so worried about?”

This seems like a sensible argument. I've just explained how she has nothing to lose. But I'ma get so mad at me. She balls up her napkin in bursts. You're so stupid, Jack. Even with all your clever plans, you're so, so stupid. Then she snatches up her keys and storms out. Doesn't pick up her phone. It goes straight to voicemail. She finally returns several hours later.

Bangs the door open and tosses her keys on the side table in an ounces. Jack, I need you to be real with me for two minutes. Okay. I very much do not wish to be real.

You know, every time I ask you why you're doing this, you always put me off with a different answer.

Oh, it's for Darlene. It's for the money. And you'll say shit like, oh, I'm not a hero. But here you are, ready to sacrifice yourself for Lucas, who you don't even know.

“Why? Why is this plan so important to you that you're willing to risk your life?”

Oh, she means real, real. Well, shit. I raised two fingers. Okay, first reason. There are no other options. And second, I pause, grimacing. Honestly, it's like my kryptonite. Finally, admit, I, um, okay. This past summer, I made a contract with, um, entity. I met her in this bar.

She said if I could convince her, I was the worst guy there. She'd give me a million bucks.

I didn't think her deal was real, but it was. And there was a catch. I had to gamble with her for my life. And I escaped her, like barely escaped her. But I had to put my stuff into a coma. What does that have to do with me? So the reason the entity chose me and not some other sap was because I have no strings attached. She could take me out of the world and no one would notice. Just like scraping a barnacle off the underside of a boat or something. I'm sneering.

I can't help myself sneering at that barnacle that I know is me. Well, I escaped her. I beat that fucking monster and I lived. And I learned to hate monsters by the way, Emma, which is part of the reason I'm going after the care home. I even kept some of that

million. Oh, yeah, I lied about that, by the way, oops. To anyone who read my previous account. Sorry.

It didn't really believe me when I said I gave it all away. These are, come on. But she was right. I woke up and there was no one. I mean, I had messages just but 90% of them were from people I'd scanned. The rest were just people I owned. And I just I need to prove I'm not a barnacle. Okay. It's a simple stupid reason. I have to do something to prove that my life matters. They're done. I fish around in the sofa for the bottle I keep

I also don't need 70 flowers. So, you know, one person choose the only one. That's why I did it for her.

“Emma doesn't reply at first. Just looks down and balls her hands into fists.”

Finally grumbles. Yeah, well, that's stupid. Obviously, your life fucking matters.

I just want to exit this conversation. But you're going to do through this bottle. Of course it does. Why do you think I got so mad at you earlier? Okay. The warm booze courses down my throat. I fish for the right words to a piece her. Your mad that I'm not taking things seriously would be a huge weight on your conscience if I died. Every life matters. Oh my god, Jack, you're so freaking dense.

And I just look at her trying to figure out why she keeps blowing up at me. Like, why does she continue

to be mad? Seeing my clueless stare she throws her hands up and then she leans over and kisses me.

It happens so fast and I blink. Shocked at the warmth of her lips on mine. She pulls back to look at me and see if I get it now. And I just say, oh, oh, yeah, I'm an idiot. And then I take her into my arms and everything ignites. Suddenly this evening just got so much better. I don't need to forget my fears and insecurities with booze. I can forget it all through sex instead, just lose myself and the delicious warmth of skin on skin and the brief flicker of

being for sure while not so completely fucking alone. When I arrive at Harmony Care Home the next day, I approach the front desk and tell Alita I want Lucas out now. Tell her that I'm willing to negotiate to be his replacement. That I've got years more management experience. I've even whipped up a fake resume. And more importantly, I'm the one Lolita really wants.

The thorn in her side she wants to punish and make into her puppet. And we both know it. She taps a pen to her mouth. I don't know, Jack. There's etiquette around this kind of thing.

And the one who laid claim to you has first digs. Not any more.

My voice is cold and I'm not fake in my anger as I grow. I won her game that contract is over. I'm free to make my own choices. I gesture to the building around us and I choose Harmony Care Home.

“Done. Just remember once you sign. You are mine.”

I'm reaching for the pen to sign the contract. But hesitate when she adds. For ever. I glanced toward the decomposing husks in the common room. Note the presence of Gerard and Burn. Their corpses shuffling around. But it's too late to back out now. I sign. So. Here we are, folks. You're all caught up with present day Jack.

It was written all of this shit from his laptop and room 313. Sorry if the chronology is a little hazy, I've been relying on my past notes and videos and it's hard remembering, you know. Almost as if all this stuff happened to someone else. Someone else in a dream. A very long ago dream. Now it's also hazy. To be honest, I probably would have lost motivation to finish this post if Lolita didn't keep telling me it's fine to keep writing.

That my friends outside might want to know how I'm doing. Huh? I'm doing just great. Every day I play bingo with the other residents. My best friends are Gerard and Burn and Ronnie and... yeah, I know they're dead. But I just go with it. Let the illusion wash over me. Forget about reality, instant around the table in the common room and play cards with everyone. As long as I stay in the

“illusion things are pretty good. Writing is actually very hard because then I remember”

where I am and it's like a nightmare. A nightmare where everyone's dead and I'm alone. The only person alive and it's dark and it's cold and I'm starving.

It's such a terrible dream. But then I wake up and breathe in the illusion. Everything's

“fucking totally fine. Tonight I'll play bingo and hang out with my friends. Such good friends.”

Soon I'll be just like them. Always... always happy. I can't wait.

Since this is likely to be my last post, Lolita suggested I tack on a review at the end. Sure. I'll happily keep writing reviews of it. Keep bringing in more friends. I like making new friends. I'm an extrovert. So here's the review I made for Lolita. And it's the coolest thing I ever wrote. Five stars. I'd give it 11 out of 10 if I could. This place is fantastic.

Everyone is friendly. The staff is great. I hope I spend my last days here.

“And if you want to be happy to never worry about being looked after,”

to be comfortable and content, come and join us at Harmony Carehouse.

Now, today we can't wait to meet you. See you, Gary. Thank you for your patronage. Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sorted history. It does come with our usual warning. However, absolutely no refunds, no exchanges. And we won't be held liable for anything that may, or may not occur while the

object is in your possession. If you've got an artifact with mysterious properties, perhaps it's a company by a history of bizarre and disturbing circumstances. Maybe you'd be interested in dropping it and it's story by the shop to share with other customers. Please reach out to [email protected]. A member of our team will be in touch. Till next time, we'll be waiting for you whenever you close

your eyes in the space between sleep and dream. During regular business hours, of course, or by appointment only for you, our best customer. You have a good night now. The antiquarium of sinister happenings, Lod117 Harmony Care Home Chapter 5, consigned by Quincy Lee, starring Trevor Shand, Addison Peacock, Magdapanovic, Fiona Thrail, Conan Freeman, and Mark Le Point, featuring Stephen Knowles as the

antique dealer. Engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand and Lauren Shand, theme music by the new brothers. Additional music by Coag, Vivica Bacheck, Clement Panchau, Nicholas Reading, and Conan Freeman. The antiquarium of sinister happenings is created in curated by Trevor Moore Shand. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter @ antiquariumpod. Call the antiquarium at 646-41-71-97.

The adventures of Button Herb. It's back, and it brought friends. In immersive audio fiction, actual play hybrid, or cozy mystery collides with creeping horror. The people just froze inside by body herb, adding natural mail. Emoture, cryptatontorous.

“Donny, the lockdown ill monster. What did it be amazing if we actually saw them?”

Professional bad decision makers. They're going to be a lot of puked all over the

place in a second now. Not the ones you want. To be honest, we weren't sure if anybody was

listening. But the ones you deserve, on the case. You'll do know this is an investigative funcest, right? And a living world powered by Deckerhart or PG. It's such a good story, if flame seriously. From senderwood studios and fable and folly, listen anywhere you get your podcasts or watch on YouTube.