Hi, my name is Trevor.
The Antiquarium.myshopify.com is truly the hub of the Antiquarium experience.
“If you've been listening closely, you might already know some of the items don't quite stay contained.”
Well, now, a few of the slightly less haunted ones can come home with you as well. We're about to replenish everything. New shirts, hoodies, and a few more curiosities we probably shouldn't be letting out. Very soon. And while we're on the subject of things waiting to be released, you've got one too. You know, that idea, that project, that thing that keeps sitting there in the back of your mind,
just out of reach, because you're not sure anyone's going to care or engage.
Listen, don't overthink it. Let it out. Whether you want to share your creative voice or build something that lets you leave the nine to five, Shopify removes the friction entirely. No complicated setup, no endless learning curve, just tools to make it easy and fun. Shipping stays simple to Shopify calculates everything.
“Print your labels, keeps that out of the post of a sign cause come on. Who's got time for that?”
It's time to turn your "what ifs" into, with Shopify today. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at shopify.com/tash. That's exclusively for you the anti-cram visitor. I believe it's what they call an anagram. I might be using that word totally wrong, but go with me. Shopify.com/tash. That's shopify.com/tash. Enjoy the lot you're about to be taken home today. And remember, no refunds, no exchanges.
This week's episode is sponsored by the new Supernatural Horror, The Demon. Tom returns to the Lakeside home where his father died, hoping to come front his past. But instead,
“something beneath the water begins to answer. As his behavior grows distant and disturbing,”
his wife and loved ones are pulled into a nightmare that feels older than memory itself, blending the psychological dread with the creeping inescapable horror, the demon explores grief, possession, and the horrors we inherit. Some forces don't just haunt you, they consume you, watch the trailer and learn more now. A familiar face among unfamiliar things. Oh, those little wishing branches.
Yes, we stopped displaying them near the register after the incident. But, tonight's acquisition arrived in two separate containers, from two separate consignos,
delivered three days apart by couriers who insist they never entered the shop at all.
Curious that. First up, a heavily damaged commuter bike, following a traffic accident and late August of last year. It's been placed in long-term storage after repeated complaints from staff, regarding persistent noises that seem to follow it. Attempts to discard the item have proven unsuccessful. Take a ride with this one called. I hear a studio audience at all times,
and they're getting creepier. 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 Tim Alves Rules, Maria Perez, Consuelo Bat, Angela Silly, Curtis, and Laurie Ad. We are ever appreciative of your devotion to
the order. Go to theobsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament. Sounds harmless enough, right? Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, and art goings on.
This is going to sound like farce, but ever since I suffered a concussion las...
I've been hearing a live studio audience around me, 24/7.
“The doctors reassured me they were merely auditory hallucinations brought on by the bump to my”
noggin, and that they'd eventually go away on their own once my brain healed.
It was actually kind of funny, first. I mean, once I got over the initial shock and fear of
hearing the unsolicited reactions of a bunch of strangers, they started off more entertaining than disturbing, but that balance eventually shifted, and I'm afraid of them now. The very first time it happened was the day I was discharged from the hospital. It was a beautiful August day, and I was sighted to finally go out in the warm sun. Eric, my boyfriend, picked me up from the hospital to take me back to our apartment.
I was in high spirits, despite a persistent headache, which had followed me since the bike accident.
Kids, where are your helmets?
“Eric made a joke, and suddenly a flurry of hysterical laughter can flooding in for every corner of the”
car. A screened at Eric to turn off his surround sound system, covering my ears to drown out the noise, but the laughter only got louder. I could tell by the freaked out looking Eric's eyes that he hadn't been playing a practical joke on me. Once the truck was subsided, I explained what happened. Eric turned the car around and drove me straight back to the medical facility. A brain scan, a few blood tests, and countless hours later, the doctors assured me it was a
harmless side effect of the concussion, and not a case of sudden onset schizophrenia as I had feared. It was perfectly normal. Well, as normal as hearing a room full of easily entertained spectators could be. It told me to go home and rest. It took me a few days to adjust to the auditory hallucinations. But I eventually started to see the humor in my predicament. Meetings at work were a lot more entertaining, what with the, you know, gallery projecting annoyed
groans whenever my boss slipped into a boring tangent. It didn't even have to secretly roll my eyes. The voices in my head were the perfect vessel through which I could express my innermost feelings without getting in trouble. At home, my captive audience laughed at each of my jokes, even when Eric failed to react to the punchline. When I went to bed, they'd wrapped my arms around Eric, and again, when my cat crawled up between us for warmth. The voice has even became a sort of
early detection system, warning me of unseen dangers through a series of suspenseful gasps. It started going downhill about two months ago when I was taking a shower alone in the apartment. Eric was out of town that night, and I had this lingering fear that I had forgotten to lock the front door. As I was pouring conditioner into the palm of my hand, I heard the studio audience gasp in fear. It startled me enough that I spilled the coconut-scented beauty product near my feet.
My spectators continued to breathe in a stressed manner that suggested I was about to get attacked by a psycho murdering home invader. I could feel myself tensing up as I stood there naked and unprotected. Thinking I heard footsteps, I took a step back and slipped on the small puddle of
“conditioner. I remember feeling my feet flying towards the air while my upper body swung towards the floor.”
With a sharp pain to the side of my head, everything went black. But the time I came to, the water was running cold. I called my dad and he brought me to the hospital. I was rewarded with nine stitches to the temple.
It's amazing what peer pressure can make you do, even when your peers don't actually exist.
In a matter of weeks, my captive audience managed to completely disrupt my life. After the shower incident, it was as though they were no longer on my side. When morning I was crossing the street, when I heard them gasp, I stopped thinking a car was heading my way. Fortunately, the street was empty. Unfortunately, my rapid stop caused me to slip on the ice and
Break my wrist.
The studio audience kept making disapproving noises. Sometimes booing me, made presentation.
It got me so tongue-ty that I messed up the whole sales pitch. The worst was what they did to my relationship with Eric. Whenever we thought they conveyed to me through that Eric was a complete scumbag. I'm not even sure what our last fight was about.
“I think it started with asking him to close the laundry room door. It was such an insignificant”
little fight, but made worse by the advice and reactions of a bunch of imaginary strangers.
They made me doubt my feelings for him, until I finally cut him loose, much to their delight.
My relationships with my parents and friends evolved in a similar manner. It was shocking for me to hear what my subconscious mind actually thought about the people that it surrounded me all my life. After a few more incidents at work, my boss fired me. I was left without loved ones, friends, or a job. I felt so isolated, despite being accompanied at all times by the voices in my head.
“Alone in my living room, I drunk dialed my ex and he came over to cheer me up.”
I got back together that night, but it was wonderful.
Everything went back to normal after Eric and I rekindled our flame. I still heard the constant and distracting laugh track, but I tried my hardest to ignore them. I was happy again, and slowly but surely, and then did every bond I'd broken. I even got my old job back. Apparently my boss couldn't handle the workload without me, or so I've been told. For a while, I was right with the world, until long I dreadful night.
I was half asleep when I heard a knock at the door. I peaked through the window and then I'd find a squad car in the driveway. My heart stopped and my faithful audience. I opened the door, but if all the things those cops told me, I'll remember hearing was this. I'm sorry, ma'am. There's been an accident. Studio audience roared with laughter and applause. Eric died. My heart broke,
but my spectators continued truckling wildly. When Eric's casket was lowered in his grave, they laughed even harder. Tears streamed down the sides of my face, but they did not stop giggling and snickering the whole time. I must be some kind of sick monster because I can't
“keep them for laughing, whatever I think of him. I just can't get them to stop.”
A gentle reminder from the Antiquarium. If you ever begin hearing laughter in moment grief should silence a room, do try to determine whether the joke is actually yours. Now then, the shop must briefly close the floor to customers while the acquisitions department responds to a structural concern somewhere behind the western walls. Apparently, something down there has started knocking back. I'll return shortly.
Well, the knocking has regrettably spread, while the Noah corridors are being reinforced. Hi, my name is Trevor. I'm from the acquisitions department here at the Antiquarium. The Antiquarium.myshopify.com is truly the hub of the Antiquarium experience. If you've been listening closely, you might already know some of the items don't quite stay contained. Well, now, a few of the slightly less haunted ones can come home with you as well. We're about to replenish
everything. New shirts, hoodies, and a few more curiosities we probably shouldn't be letting out.
Very soon.
you've got one too. You know that idea, that project, that thing that keeps sitting there in the back your mind just out of reach because you're not sure anyone's going to care or engage. Listen, don't overthink it. Let it out. Whether you want to share your creative voice or build something that lets you leave the nine to five, Shopify removes the friction entirely. No complicated setup, no endless learning curve, just tools to make it easy and fun. Shipping stays simple to Shopify
calculates everything. Print your labels, keeps that out of the post of a Sykes. Come on. Who's got time for that? It's time to turn your what ifs into, with Shopify today. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com/tash. That's exclusively for you the Antiquarium visitor.
“I believe it's what they call an anagram. I might be using that word totally wrong, but go with me.”
Shopify.com/tash. That's shopify.com/tash. Enjoy the lot you're about to be taken home today and remember, no refunds, no exchanges. We have to go back. Back to where the nightmares began,
with Stephen King's first works, the books that made modern horror, carry,
Salem's lot, the shining, night shift, the stand, start your summer wane with Stephen King, sponsored by Vintage Books, available now, wherever books are sold. I thought it best, we continue the examination of log 1, 2, 7, specifically the second item. It arrived in an Ebony presentation case, sometime after 3 in the morning, despite no delivery service appearing on the exterior cameras.
“It resembles a common handheld stud fighter. As you will soon learn,”
it is at the center of much more than that. Let's hammer home this constructed tail call, stud find a product review. Three stars. Stud finder product review. Three stars. I recently purchased Belphagore's 4-in-1 deep scanner walled multifunction tool.
Until now, I've never felt the need to write or review about a product, but this time,
well, I'm scratching my head on what to do next. I purchased the stud finder because my wife had some things she needed to hang it. Picture frames, Nick Nax, and this huge relief sculpture that almost threw my back out when I carried it down to the basement. I wasn't putting off completing this little honey do this. It was just never a priority. Things pop up. Bigger fix is need fixing, and we never go in the basement anyway. So it's not like anyone's gonna notice the bare walls
or the stack of us sorted what knots piled in the corner. She went down to swap out the seasonal decorations from the storage room and found everything still sitting in a pile. She demanded that I hang everything at night. I did most of it, but being the craftsman that I am, I wouldn't hang the heavier items until the supports were nailed into a wall stud. Do the job once and do it right,
I always say. This led me to your website and search of a quality stud finder to get this honey
“do list honey done. My order arrived within a day of placing it. You know now that I think about it,”
it didn't even take a full day. I woke up to the chime of the doorbell camera sometime after 3am. I expected it was those awesome boys TPing our trees again. That kids. But when I got down there, I found the scanner waiting in an exquisite Ebony box. I didn't hear it delivery truck. So I can only assume you've converted your fleet to electric. Very nice. It was Whisper quiet. Like literal. I could hear the faint Whisper's all around me as I
picked up the package from the steep. I also appreciated that the packaging was made from 98% recycled materials. Even though the primary material listed was skin. This has no impact on the product performance, but like your electric delivery fleet, it's a nice touch to know that I'm purchasing from a company that cares about the issues I care about. My wife came downstairs while I was unboxing, wondering what all the commotion was. I turned and showed her the scanner putting it on my chest.
This thing's broken. There's a stud right here. That's usually good for a laugh. But at 3am, she wasn't much for jokes. We're perhaps she was unnerved by that high pitched freak when the device touched my skin. This leads to my first nitpick, lack of a volume control knob. I can't be too upset since the scanner came with batteries. That saved me from rummaging through the
Junk drawer for loose AAAs.
but at that moment I was compelled to go to the basement. I can't quite explain it, but it was
“almost like the device was pulling me where it needed to go. It pulsed in my hand,”
throbbing, like a beating heart. I hadn't even touched it to the wall and it was already leading me to the start. Talk about craftsmanship. Wow. Entering the basement led to my next issue with the scanner. My dog Rufus had an adverse reaction to the waves. Beings or whatever, like from magnetic energy, the scanner was a meeting. When I pointed the scanner out of me, his barking took on a completely different tone. Almost something like a human voice speaking a language that I hadn't
understand. Something yet here from one of those Norwegian death metal bands. My nephew's always
going on about. He also took a massive shit on the floor, rolling around it until he was
“completely covered. The dog, not my nephew. If this is expected, you might want to print a warning”
somewhere to avoid using it around dogs. Also small nitpick. Printing the user manual at a language other than ancient Sumerian would be helpful. I placed the scanner on the wall where the wife wanted me to hang the relief scopes for that she bought on vacation in Honduras. I pressed the buttons on the side of the device and slid it against the wall as I watched the indicator. I was expecting an arrow, an X or something when I landed on a stud. But instead, the device
vibrated wildly in my hand which I took as a good sign that what I was searching for was right there. I marked the wall and went to my toolbox to get my hammer. I picked it up and squeezed the
“handle tight to my fist. Even then I knew it wasn't for the wall. Rufus knew it too.”
He crawled over to me, still warmling out about half of it, but only both with dread and jubilation. I gave him one last scratch behind the ear. He sat before me. He had lowered the column resignation as he awaited his blessing to become the first sacrifice. He was bailed chosen. I'm pleased to say he didn't suffer. One swing was all in took.
Like I always say, do the job once? Do it right. I drained his blood trying to get out as much as
possible. I didn't know how much I would need as the instructions did not specify how much blood was required to generate a blood seal to bring forth the true keen of hell. I utilized a piece of bone from the hole in Rufus' skull to draw the sigil. Sir, I could have used something else, maybe a pin or a dowel rod. But like Belphagore, I prefer to recycle as much as possible. My wife was not pleased when she found the mess that I had made. I don't recall when she found
time seemed to move differently now. From the light through the basement window, it had to be late and morning when she came down to check on my progress. She was in a word, shot. She screamed almost as loudly as the scanner had when I put it against my chest for the
start finding it. That is never not funny. Between her screams and the gutteral thromb of black
mass reverberating over and over, we're going like corp-seating worms deeper into my brain. Well, it's enough to drive him in crazy. At first I wasn't sure if she was screaming because of the bloody sigil on the wall or Rufus with his skull capped in. I got up to apologize for my stereotypical male behavior. Fixed one thing, leaving even bigger mass behind. As I was standing up, I felt the sting in my chest. That was when I remembered carving the
symbol of bail into my flesh with the ceremony of life that I ordered to be at your mobile app. It arrived within minutes, could us to your delivery team. I must have been a sight. Also, I had Rufus's shit kick skin draped all over my neck and body like a cape. I get cold sometimes, bad circulation runs in my family. The scanner vibrated on the floor in front of me. There was
calm at first, but the vibrations grew more violent, bouncing on the ground as if it were in the middle of
Earthquake.
It's lit across the floor and stopped at her feet. The hands-free functionality was a nice, unexpected touch.
“My wife wasn't as thrilled by the scanners, unique abilities as I was. She ran screaming up the stairs”
all frantic and fearful, clutching her crucifix as she recited the Lord's Prayer. The scanner follow, hopping up the stairs and clipping at her heels as she tried to escape. He was quite a sight. The symbol carved in my chest took me in the direction of the scanner, beckoning me to follow. I caught up to my wife on the top stand. I tried to calmer and tell her how
her sacrifice would bring us one step closer to the return of the one-true king of hell.
But she seemed less thrilled about this than I was. Turns out what caused her to scream the loudest
“was the ceremonial life in my hand. She would become the second sacrifice for bail.”
One given willingly, one taken forcefully, such as the balance of things. Both were necessary, and both will be rewarded for the blood they gave to foster the gateway for his return. I spent most of my waking day in the basement now. Seated on the floor next to a chair made
from the bones of my sacrifices. My data. I don't dare city. Not because of concern over the
past, but because it's not my chair. It's his chair. They up with my dark king. The one I serve. The sleeves to my final. It's been three weeks and although I still hear the voices and whispers tearing at my brain when I stare into the simple, I don't know what to do next to bring about
“as return. Is there like an election sort of incantation I need to do or do I need more sacrifice?”
I'm really I'm getting deep in the weeds on this and I die. I need to know what to do. The lack of detailed instructions in modern language is truly a short-sighted gap on the part of the product designers. One thing I've noticed, I want to put the scanner on my chest now instead of instead of the high pitch sweep from the forehead. It drums like a heartbeat and pulses. One word in vibrant red letters. Vessel. Including a troubleshooting guide that explains
what all the symbols and messages mean would be immensely helpful. Herein lies the quandary without proper instructions. I keep say for certain that the scanner is working as expected. I've returned the extended warranty card and hopes that a translation of the operating instructions can be sent so I can complete the ritual. Because of this, I can only give your product three stars. I look forward to your response. Until then, I sit and pointed and awaited by the
blanket. You go to complete my master's summons. 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.
three stars, consigned by Chris Hicks, starring Jared Griffiths. I hear his studio audience,
“consigned by man and listen, starring Addison Peacock and Kevin Seaman, featuring Steven Nulls”
as the antique dealer, production and sound designed by Kevin Seaman, theme music by the Newton Brothers.
Additional music by Coag, Vivek Abashek, Clement Panchout, Nicholas Reading, and Conan Freeman.
“The antiquarium of sinister happenings is created and curated by Trevor Moore and Shand.”
Follow us on Instagram and Twitter @antiquariumpod. Call the antiquarium at 646-41-7197.
[Music]
