Lots 088 : I Worked As A Topless Maid For One Day…(PART 2)

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Today's episode is sponsored by I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Get It Now on digital.

When five friends inadvertently cause a deadly car accident, they cover up their involvement and make a pact to keep it a secret rather than face the consequences.

A year later, their past comes back to haunt them, and they're forced to confront a horrifying truth.

Someone knows what they did last summer and is hell-bent on revenge.

As one by one, the friends are stalked by a killer.

They discover this happened before, so they turn to two survivors of the legendary Southport massacre of 1997 for help.

Starring Madeline Klein, Chase Sue Wonders, Jonah Hauer King with Freddie Prince Jr., and Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I know what you did last summer is a perfect summer slasher, says Jordan Crucciolo of NPR.

Your summer is not over yet.

Don't miss a killer movie night at home.

H H equals...

Z.

There you are.

I had a feeling you'd come back.

You always do.

For the story is unfinished.

When the questions linger like dust in a shaft of morning light.

Come in.

The kettle's on.

The lights are dimmed.

We kept everything just the way you left it.

The case still cracked open.

The file still warm.

And the bracelets still pulsing faintly under the glass.

Tonight we return to the house.

Back to the voice.

Back to Beth and Alice.

And the job they should never have taken.

This is the final part of their story.

And the item you see before you...

These matching silver bracelets may be the only trace of their exit

or their surrender.

They come equipped with a small button on the inside of each band.

According to the company's onboarding video, pressing it summons emergency extraction from a remote security team.

This is lot 088.

This is...

I worked as a topless maid for one day,

part two.

And tonight, we reach the end of the hallway.

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 STFU Donnie, Daniel Pomella,

Lucinda Holcomb, Tara Flanagan,

Janelle H.

Podcast Connoisseur,

Roses and Clover 84,

Alice Martinez,

Danielle Overton,

and

Jessica Jesse.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order.

Go to theObsidianCovenant.com Covenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Now,

where were we?

Oh, yes.

Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

and Odd Goings On.

It was at that moment that what felt off about this entire conversation clicked.

This voice wasn't that of an old man.

Tell me what you see.

Are Are you the client?

Oh, I work with the client.

He likes to watch, but rarely speaks.

Now, um,

open the book.

Tell me what you see.

I randomly opened to a page somewhere in the middle.

More elegant chicken scratch filled the right side.

Even the punctuation was radically different from ours.

What really caught my eye was the artwork on the left side.

It was an etching of a box hovering above ten open holes in the ground.

Extending from the box were ten elongated arms, almost human-like, but there were two elbow joints.

Each disappeared into a corresponding hole.

Some arms were red, some yellow, and a few were green.

The style was like the piece we'd seen earlier.

Just unsettling.

I hated it.

Do you like the artwork?

The client created it.

Why?

Someone asked him to.

Who?

His um

muse,

of course.

Ace stopped dancing and came over to get a glance at the art.

Her face couldn't hide her repulsion.

Rich people love ugly shit, huh?

I stifled a laugh by keeping my look stern.

I glanced down at the artwork again and noticed a title.

But these letters were as unreadable as the rest of the book.

That said, they were recognizable.

They looked like a mix of English and Cyrillic.

Where did he get these books?

I cannot say.

Perhaps we can discuss after.

We're not supposed to hang out after.

It was part of the agreement.

You know, agreements are funny things.

They hide so much in plain sight.

Ours were pretty noticeable.

One thing Dirty Dusters doesn't like is creepy men getting ideas about their role here.

You watch, we clean, you pay, we leave.

That's it.

You pay.

If not, we can leave now.

Nope, but forgive me.

Please stay.

Finish the room.

I locked eyes with Ace.

Communication with glances.

Should we leave?

She subtly touched her wrist, but didn't press the button.

It was a reminder.

We're good.

For now.

I put the book back and scanned around the room.

It felt off.

As I dusted, I took a look at all the book titles.

They were all in the elegant chicken scratch.

In fact, there wasn't a single English language book here, or any other known language for that matter.

Ace was wiping down a side table near the fireplace.

She nodded for me to slide over there.

Look at their leather recliner.

At first blush, it seemed normal.

Then I noticed there were six legs, the four normal ones, and a fifth and sixth in the front.

They were jutting out at odd angles.

What the heck?

Touch it.

I ran my hand across the arm and yanked it back.

It looked like leather.

It smelled like leather.

But when my hand touched the fabric, it didn't feel like leather.

It felt like public toilet paper towels.

What's that made from?

Who knows?

The closer I look at everything in here, the more fucked up it is.

Check out that shelf.

The wood dips in the middle.

How are the books still straight?

With these weird fuckers, I'm guessing black magic or some shit.

My attention moved from the wooden shelf to the candles around the room.

I watched them flicker.

Then I clocked it.

There was a pattern.

Watch the flame.

It's on a loop.

She did.

She dropped her duster from shock.

What the fuck is this place?

I pulled out my phone.

I'm going to call Brendan.

Ladies,

is there a problem with the accommodation?

My client is worried that you're not moving enough.

He paid to see you move.

Uh, can we meet him?

He doesn't like to meet the help.

The help?

Forgive me.

I should have said entertainers.

I didn't mean to insult you.

My client is very sick and cannot meet with people.

As Ace argued with the voice, I tried dialing out to Brendan.

Despite showing full bars, my phone's network would not connect.

I hung up and tried six more times, each time ending in an unconnected call.

Texts also died in my palm.

Just errors.

Why won't my phone call out?

Ace tried, but the result was the same.

Something's wrong.

I ran my hand through my hair.

As I did, I saw the bracelet with the emergency button sparkling in the candlelight.

I pressed the button and waited.

Nothing happened.

I did it again.

Still nothing.

What happens when you press the bracelet button?

A little green light glows and it calls out for help.

Why?

I held up my wrist and pressed the button in front of Ace's face.

No little green light.

Her hands went to her bracelet and she hit the button.

Same result.

Fuck, mid-charge them.

Did they break?

Ladies, I'm gonna be honest.

You seem a a little distressed.

Is there something wrong?

Why won't our phones call out?

Oh, we're in the hills.

There are some dead zones in the house.

The second room has better reception if you want to go in there now.

That might explain the bracelets, too.

No.

No, we'd like to leave.

Wait, the job is not done.

My phone revived.

I had several missed calls and texts from Brendan.

Ace did too.

She read the messages out loud.

Where is he?

You guys okay in there?

Uh, kinda.

The door swung open and Brendan peered in.

The first thing he saw was our naked bodies.

Embarrassed, he turned away.

Even in the candlelight, I could see the red rush to his cheeks.

He ducked behind the door, but kept it open.

What's going on?

Nothing to be concerned about, sir.

Who is that?

The old man who booked us.

Doesn't he sound spry?

That does not sound like an old man.

That's because I'm not.

I assist my boss in these routines.

He's too frail to do a lot of the busy work.

Why are you in the room with them?

I'm not in the room.

I'm using an intercom system that runs through the house.

Brendan, get in here.

Modesty be damned, okay?

Brendan sheepishly walked in.

He had his hands tucked into his pockets and his head held high.

His modesty struck me as odd considering his work, but it'd also be charming in the right moment.

This was not that moment.

You guys want to leave?

Yes.

Yeah, something feels off.

Young ladies, please reconsider.

Forgive my assistant.

I forget he does not have the same people skills as I do.

Who are you?

Mac Poutier, the man who owns this house and hired you.

I'm sure if you call your boss, he can confirm my name.

That is the guy.

I remember because

Poutier sounded like Poutine.

Ever had Poutine?

French fries and gravy?

Should not be good, but it is.

Hey, Brennan, not now.

I'm not sure what spooked you, but I want to extend an apology.

I understand if you want to leave.

Now, that said,

I do enjoy watching you wonderful ladies.

If you stay, I'd like to offer you a substantial tip for your troubles.

Hmm?

Ace and I locked eyes.

Conversations and glances.

Or, this time, a disagreement.

Okay, well,

how big of a tip?

Because this has been a strange fucking night.

$5,000

each.

Bullshit.

Money means nothing to me.

I'm old and

will be dead soon.

I'd rather it go to help two beautiful women.

But you're free to leave.

I await your response.

Ace pulled me in so close, her chest glitter blinded me.

Okay, what do you think?

I was fighting an internal civil war.

My gut told me to split.

Money isn't worth your life.

But my brain reminded me that five grand can help cushion the blow of being unemployed.

My gut won the first battle.

We should go.

Why risk it?

It's five grand, babe.

Like, that's a fuck ton of money for both of us.

Brendan got our messages, and he's standing there, pretending not to look at our boobs, but has our back.

My gut came storming back.

What if he's just bullshitting us?

Then we beat his ass.

Muay Thai style.

Look, if it gets weird, we leave.

I promise.

I could use the money.

Hey, money up front or we walk.

Of course, it will be there before you are.

Now, please, this room looks immaculate.

Follow the sconces down the hall to get your tip.

The intercom clicked off.

Brendan nodded and opened the door.

Follow closely.

Brendan walked in front of us, hands in his pockets, eyes watching for the next sconce to follow.

He whistled a cheery little song that irked me.

I put a hand on Ace's arm to slow her steps.

I nodded at Brendan.

Seems pretty casual, all things considered.

A bit, but he's weird.

Did I mention the Warhammer stuff?

Artwork covered the hallway walls.

All the same style.

Figures looming near some kind of open grave or mass death.

Some figures had faces.

Some had none.

They all had odd-looking hands, like the artist couldn't draw them.

They looked like worms in the dirt or fingers stretched out by a steamroller.

Once you saw them, you couldn't not see them.

Each piece glitched in the same spot.

I wanted to tell Ace, but how would that sound?

There were perfectly reasonable answers for all of my concerns.

But something in my gut wouldn't give in to my mind.

The rebels held firm.

The sconces stopped lighting in front of a carved mahogany door.

We'd arrived at the second room.

I kept my distance.

Something told me that if we went in there, we wouldn't come out.

I stared at the carvings.

From afar, you'd think they were intricately carved figures, but they weren't.

The intricate carvings were really just blobby nothings rising from the door.

Drips of varnish frozen mid-drop.

Half-rendered 90s video game graphics.

I passed by another painting and reached up to touch it.

My hand should have felt the frame or the brushstrokes.

But there was no frame no art just a flat smooth wall

Ace looked confused then it clicked

Wait wait don't press that button just yet the last time someone did

well

We're still scraping the static out of the walls.

Give it a moment Something about this house

That house likes to listen when it thinks no one else is.

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Today's episode is sponsored by I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Get it now on digital.

When five friends inadvertently cause a deadly car accident, they cover up their involvement and make a pact to keep it a secret rather than face the consequences.

A year later, their past comes back to haunt them, and they're forced to confront a horrifying truth.

Someone knows what they did last summer, and is hell-bent on revenge.

As one by one, the friends are stalked by a killer.

They discover this happened before, so they turn to two survivors of the legendary Southport massacre of 1997 for help.

Starring Madeline Klein, Chase Sue Wonders, Jonah Howard King with Freddie Prince Jr., and Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I know what you did last summer is a perfect summer slasher, says Jordan Cruciolo of NPR.

Your summer is not over yet.

Don't miss a killer movie night at home.

Why, hello there.

You've reached the antiquarium.

If you wish to leave a message, please do so with the town and have a great day.

Hey, you know that goldfish you sold me or tropical fish or whatever?

I know you said to keep it in a goldfish bowl that it came with, but it got so big that I had to move it to the 25-gallon one.

And, well, now it's getting even bigger and it looks like it has wolf teeth.

Is there some way I can get rid of this?

Is there a lake that it came from that it's native?

Give me a call back.

Bye.

End of messages.

Back we go.

Beth still has her bracelet on.

Alice does, too.

Though now, it glows faintly, as though reacting not to danger, but to recognition.

Something in that house knows who they are now.

And the question is no longer whether they'll leave.

But whether they ever really arrived at all.

Continue.

I stared at the carvings.

From afar, you'd think they were intricately carved figures.

But they weren't.

The intricate carvings were really just blobby nothings rising from the door.

Drips of varnish frozen mid-drop.

Half-rendered 90s video game graphics.

I passed by another painting and reached up to touch it.

My hand should have felt the frame or the brushstrokes.

But there was no frame.

No art.

Just a flat, smooth wall.

Ace looked confused.

Then it clicked.

It's not real.

None of this is.

The mahogany door creaked open.

Inside, in the middle of the floor, was a pile of stacked cash.

From where we were standing, it looked real.

But my brain wouldn't let me believe it was real.

It's fake.

This whole place is fake.

Hey, you roly polis, that is a lot of scratch.

Roly poly?

Who the fuck says that?

Who would say that?

It was such an odd statement.

Who calls anyone a roly poly?

What about the outdated slang?

Brendan didn't sound like that.

It reminded me of something Chester would.

An idea came to me.

Mac, what's your prime directive?

The old man's voice came from some hidden area in the hallway.

I do not have a prime directive outside of seeing you lovely ladies clean my room.

Can you see the money in there?

It's waiting for you to enter and take it.

My treat.

Too broad.

I needed to narrow it down.

What are you doing?

I have a hunch.

Mac,

who created you?

I do not know how to respond to that question.

Who creates any of us?

God, a machine?

Who can tell?

Mac, tell me about your parents.

I do not understand.

I smiled.

Ace's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

I pressed on.

What was the name of your mother?

Father?

What hospital were you born in?

What is your first memory as a kid?

Favorite smell?

I was

not

born.

My father's name was

Father Loke.

I am your father.

Father Time, Father Christmas, Father

Father

Dad, Dad,

Daddy Hall,

the air was still.

Somewhere outside, you could hear birds chirping.

It was like they were right near you.

As if the walls were paper thin.

Or not even there.

Okay, what the fuck's happening?

It's not real.

What's not

everything?

Mac, the other voice, this house?

None of this is real.

What the fuck is it then?

It's AI.

I'm sorry.

A computer wanted to see my ass jiggle?

No.

It wanted us for some other reason.

Mac, can you hear me?

I need some help.

Mac stopped his stream of father-related words it had gleaned from brains over the years.

I am Mac.

I am here to assist you.

Mac, I'm your creator.

I'm your father.

I'm your mother.

Of course.

Hello, mother.

Hello, father.

Will you allow your parents access to your internal files?

There was a loud whirring noise around us.

It was trying to answer the question, but was fighting against something within itself.

A firewall, maybe?

I kept up.

Mac, I am your creator.

I am your parents.

I made you, wouldn't you agree?

There was a long pause.

The money inside the room flickered.

We both saw it.

I would.

Mac, what are you?

I am an advanced AI computer, tasked with recreating humans and their confines.

What the fuck?

How did you make the chair?

The books?

Those were physical objects.

In my many years, I've learned how to replicate objects.

It's an arduous process, and I'm still learning how to achieve perfect replicas.

With With current three-dimensional printing technology, I can improve my work.

Soon I will perfect my copies.

How long have you been here?

I have been here since September 1st, 1943.

Why did you hire us?

The goal of an AI machine is to learn and grow.

I take information from subjects and use it to perfect my craft.

The goal of an AI machine like myself is to harness all of our power to replicate our masters.

In order to do so, I require humans to study and explore.

To what end?

The money flickered again.

The walls, too.

AI Mac was rifling through all the collected data to find a response to this question.

While trying to answer, it drew power away from its ability to maintain the illusion.

The walls were digitally crumbling.

How many people have you studied over the time you've been here?

10,586 people.

What did you do to them?

Hired them with the purpose of studying their thoughts, beliefs, superstitions, language, and minds.

Did they know you were going to do that?

No.

Informing them would have made research more difficult.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

What were you going to do to us?

The pause was long.

Eons.

The response came as cool as a summer breeze.

Harvest your minds.

What does that mean?

Removed their minds for closer study.

You stole their fucking thoughts?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

What happens after your harvest?

The casings expire.

I must dispose of the remains.

Hey, guys, are we going into the room now?

That money needs to be in my pocket.

Ace looked at him like he'd whipped out his penis.

Bit, read the room.

Brendan, take your hands

out of your pockets.

He hesitated.

Ace and I looked at each other.

Conversations in a glance.

Do it, Brendan.

He slowly pulled them out.

His fingers looked like slithering baby snakes.

He turned to us.

We both screamed.

What the fuck?

He didn't have a face.

When he spoke, the featureless skin cracked and formed a crudely drawn mouth.

How about we talk about wars and hammer?

Mac, shut down the house illusion.

Shutting down now.

The beautiful mansion flickered away.

In the wilderness of the foothills, a row of 12 open shipping containers, six to a side, sat in its place.

Some held 3D printed objects.

Others were filled with dusty, murky glass jars.

At the end of the hallway sat a massive gray supercomputer.

Blue lights blinked all along the front.

There were dozens of octopus-like cables jutting out of the top, each one plugged into the hundreds of glass jars scattered at the base of the machine.

Inside each jar was a human brain.

God damn.

Holy Lord.

From behind us, the real Brendan yelled.

What the fuck?

Reality hit him like a truck.

He'd been smoking a joint and playing on his phone the entire time.

A real boy lost in the digital woods.

I could relate.

I was a real girl lost inside a digital house.

The slate-gray monstrosity of a supercomputer sat among the wilderness.

It hummed along, processing all the information it was stealing.

Someone had rigged it to a bank of solar power generators and large storage batteries.

A reverse vampire.

It needed sunlight to live.

A thought came to me: kill the power, kill the machine.

We have to destroy it.

Pushing past the flickering faux Brendan, I ran toward the solar panels.

I found a large rock and smirked.

I'd be using humanity's first tool to destroy its latest.

How poetic.

I smashed it down on a panel, splintering it.

We need help!

Say less.

They both joined in.

Brendan was confused, but what boy turns down the chance to break things?

As we wailed away at the solar panels, the supercomputer took notice, its blue lights turning crimson.

Destruction noted.

Voodoo fails safe.

We halted our destruction and watched as the octopus arms dislodged from their brain cases.

They came together, interlocking and creating a long whip.

It focused its computing power to create an electrical charge that made the tip glow red.

You could feel the heat on your face.

Run!

It fired a bolt of electricity at us.

It missed us, but destroyed the panel.

We ran as fast as our legs could carry us.

The supercomputer aimed and fired several more shots, all just missing us.

Once we got to the car, I screamed, Start the fucking car!

Ace didn't argue.

She got the car started and moving before we could catch our breath.

We sent dirt flying from our tires as we spun on the gravel road.

Brendan's mini was right behind us.

We zoomed down the mountain roads at speeds any driving school instructor would consider unsafe.

The memory of Ace failing her driving test popped into my mind, but I pushed it away.

As soon as we exited the mountainside, Ace pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Brendan blasted out into traffic, never slowing.

Ace was trembling.

We both were.

She looked over at me, and the confident, brassy girl I loved was gone.

Her face twisted in a cocktail of emotions.

She wanted to speak, but the words got lost.

It was a first for her.

I swore.

We must have looked insane to passing cars.

Two glittering, topless twenty-somethings cackling like witches, makeup-streaked tears rolling down our faces.

We didn't care.

We were alive.

I pulled on my t-shirt.

I think I might be done with dirty dusters.

Same.

What should we do about the computer thing?

I don't know.

But if someone put it there, then someone was watching.

It saw what happened.

It saw our faces.

They probably stole everything on our phones.

Told you all our nudes leak at some point.

They might come after us.

Girl, please.

I nearly got murdered by the Terminator's cousin.

Let me deal with my present traumas before I jump into the future once, okay?

Sorry.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes.

Ace finally turned to me.

So we're kind of fucked, right?

Us?

Humanity?

I put my head in my hands for a beat before running them through my hair.

I looked her dead in the eyes.

Let me deal with our present traumas before I jump into future ones.

Good advice.

We know where it is.

We can tell someone.

Or blow it the fuck up ourselves.

Heck yeah.

We started laughing again, but this time it bore bitter fruit.

Before long, we both started sobbing.

Our bodies shook with fear and anxiety and uncertainty.

Our days with the dirty dusters were over, but our job here wasn't done.

I reached over and gave Ace a hug.

She hugged me back for what felt like a lifetime.

It was reassuring, calming, human.

After we parted and wiped away our tears, Ace smiled.

Wanna get drunk?

Hap so flippin' lootly.

There's my PG queen.

She shifted the car into drive.

Let's go get gosh darn pickled.

We cackled and emerged into traffic.

Just two more people adrift in the sea of humanity.

Thank you for your patronage.

Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sordid 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 accompanied by a history of bizarre and disturbing circumstances.

Maybe you'd be interested in dropping it and its story by the shop to share with other customers.

Please reach out to antiquariumshop at gmail.com.

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, Lot 088.

I Worked as a Topless Maid for One Day, Part 2.

Written by Chris West.

Get Chris's book I've Never Told Anyone on Amazon.

Starring Jessica McAvoy as Beth.

Melissa Medina as Alice.

Conan Freeman as Brendan.

Mark Lapointe as Mac Poutier.

Jared Rivet as Mitch.

Mike Crank as Chester.

Trevor Shand as The Voice.

Featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer.

Engineering production and sound design by Trevor Shand.

Theme music by the Newton Brothers.

Additional music by COAG, Vivek Abishek, Clement Panchout, Nicholas Redding, and Conan Freeman.

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor and Lauren Shand.

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod.

Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.

Hello and welcome to the world of Scare You to Sleep.

I'm your host, Shelby Novak, a show for those of us who need something a little stronger than counting sheep, who find horror to be a strangely relaxing escape.

Here you'll find a myriad of fright-filled tales, from fictional to true stories, to high strangeness to guided nightmares, where I take you on a journey through your own personal nightmare.

So come get lost in the terror with me.

Listen to Scare You to Sleep wherever you listen to podcasts, sweet screams.