Lot 086 : Third Watch

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 Cruciolo of NPR.

Your summer is not over yet.

Don't miss a killer movie night at home.

X equals

B.

There you are, stitched to fate as always.

Come on in.

The archive breathes easier with you near.

Another night.

Another lot.

This one was left at our doorstep.

In an evidence box.

No return address.

No badge number.

Just a slip of paper inside that read, keep the batteries out.

It doesn't help.

The object in question is a flashlight.

Heavy, steel-bodied, government-issued.

Its surface is cracked and caked in blood, long dried to rust.

The lens is fractured, and yet, somehow, it works.

Not always,

only once a night.

It turns on exactly at 3.23 a.m.

No matter where it's stored, no matter who's watching it.

And when it does, the beam flickers and stutters, like it's trying to say something.

Like it remembers.

Police records trace this item to a now decommissioned station in Ohio.

The building is condemned.

Official records end in 2004.

But the night in question, the last night anyone was officially on shift, occurred in the fall of 2003.

It's not listed in any logs, but we have the report, or rather, we have what's left of it.

And we have the light.

This is Lot 86.

This is the story of

Third Watch.

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 Danny Vega, Kayla, Duskombat Wombat, Patricia Graham, Kyle Turner, Ali G,

Eliza Vita Sparingen, Roger Prine,

James Springer II,

and

Jula Tequila.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order.

Go to theObsidiancovenant.com to receive the sacrament.

Now,

where were we?

Oh, yes.

Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

and Odd Goings On.

A woman entered our police station at 3.23 a.m.

and begged to be arrested.

Let's take a second and start from the beginning, okay?

What crime have you committed?

None.

She choked out, lungs recovering from her dash into the station.

I frowned from behind the counter,

readying myself for one of those nights.

But it would be like no other night of my life.

Then why should I arrest you, ma'am?

The squirrely woman, catching her breath with hands against her knees, cranked her neck backwards so sharply that the joint popped.

Because

we're all in danger.

Then, her eyes began to ping frenetically between the station's entrance and myself.

I lent my elbows a little more deeply into the counter, pushing forwards to take a better peek at the building's automatic doors.

There was nothing beyond the glass panes but the black of night and tarmac and silhouetted trees.

Is somebody following you?

She shook her bobblehead, making her neck pop another couple of times.

I winced a little at the woman's frailty.

She was slinging her skull around so violently that I started to wonder whether she wanted to launch it free.

Pitch the damn thing for six.

No, I'm just checking that we're alone.

Now, I'm an officer of the law.

I've faced men and women with twice and thrice the stature of this meek, frightened woman.

So I don't know how quite to explain how or why.

I felt such terror in that moment.

I was chilled by the woman's breath or the words carried on it.

There are three other officers at the station here tonight.

We're not alone.

Will those doors count?

Shivering as she eyed the glass entrance again.

Count in what way?

I need the smallest indoor space possible.

He told me that I won't be able to exit a room or a building or a prison without spoken approval.

He said I'd need permission to leave.

And um, who told you that?

I mean, you're wasting our time here.

I don't understand, ma'am.

Explain what's happening.

Do I have to do something criminal?

You won't just arrest me?

Yeah, that's generally how it works, ma'am.

I'm just a little concerned about why you want to be locked away this evening.

Well, morning.

I assume it has something to do with keeping yourself safe by getting off the street, given that you say you're in danger.

However,

jail cells aren't hotel rooms, in case you didn't know.

I still need to protect myself.

I needed to protect all of you.

What's happening out there, Thatcher?

I tried my damnedest not to gulp, but the unnerving woman was making it difficult for me.

This lady's asking to be arrested.

But she says she hasn't committed a crime.

Officer Bowen offered me a raised eyebrow, then put her hands on her hips as she looked at the woman.

What's your name, love?

Tamzin.

Please.

Will one of you lock me up?

I need to be locked up.

Something bad's about to happen.

Hey, what's about to happen, Tamsen?

I don't know.

It's inside of me.

Something about those words and her tone of voice instilled me with fear beyond anything words could describe.

For it was a fear not of this world.

Officer Bowen, on the other hand, seemed unamused.

She leant towards my my ear and whispered, Okay,

I think we need to get this lady some psychiatric help.

She might be in danger.

She might be, but that's for a healthcare professional to decide, don't you think?

Not to police officers at three o'clock in the morning.

Tamson,

here's what's gonna happen.

I'm gonna leave you with Officer Bowen here just for a second while I make a call in the office, all right?

No, please.

Just arrest me.

There isn't time for any of this.

Okay, I need you to relax, Tamsin.

We're gonna help you, okay?

We're gonna figure out what's happening together.

I shut the office door behind me, then made the call.

The idea was to avoid potentially upsetting or aggravating the distressed civilian.

Bowen and I had no idea how she would react to the arrival of a mental health specialist, so it seemed best to keep the information to ourselves.

The office overlooked the main entrance through a horizontal one-way window.

So I watched Bowen and Tamson talk whilst the phone rang.

And when I made it through to a specialist, I explained the whole situation to her.

She said that Tamson was in need of a proper health assessment.

I know it's late, so I'm happy to escort her to the hospital myself.

Don't worry about that.

And then came a voice not quite her own.

No,

we will escort you all.

Before I managed to wrap my head around my my unease at her sudden shift in vocal timber,

I clocked Tamson smiling at me from the other side of the one-way window.

She shouldn't have been able to see me,

but I knew somehow that she could.

And that

filled me with terror.

The grin on her face might have had a thing or two to do with it, too.

Then, the lights in the station cut out.

And that came with a sharper pang of terror.

The pain persisted afterwards,

leaving me sitting in the dark, phone screen lighting my face, with an invisible blade lodged stubbornly between two bars of my ribcage.

With the phone in my far-from-rigid hand, I rushed back out into the darkened area behind the counter.

But Officer Bowen wasn't there.

Tamson wasn't there either.

Hello?

A flashlight bounced down a distant corridor, beyond the counter, painting the walls in light, offering only a slight reprieve from the suffocating darkness.

Then came Officer Harling into the entryway.

Oh, Thatcher, thank God, someone's here.

Looks like we've had a power cut.

Shining the beam of light onto me.

There was a woman.

She's gone now.

Bowen's gone too.

Huh?

Gone?

I don't know.

Where's Rodman?

Powen.

Rodman.

I ran out from behind the counter and joined Officer Harling as we ran down a hallway that led into the heart of the station.

Desperate to locate the cries of our two fellow officers on the late-night shift with us.

This is Officer Harling requesting backup, power cut in the station, and potential disturbance.

We burst through double doors and found ourselves in the station's break room.

There,

we witnessed a horror I will never forget.

Officer Bowen and Officer Rodman were both lying on one of the tables.

sawn neatly in half a little above each of their pelvic areas.

A beam from Harling's flashlight caught the sheen of the blood

and the table's laminated plastic top

and the whites of the victim's eyes.

Their mouths hung open in the screams they had unleashed during those final seconds of life.

I hoped, and still hope, their deaths were swift and relatively painless, but their expressions told another horrifying story.

One that left me paralyzed in fear,

Vocal cords unable to expel a sound.

Harling, on the other hand, screamed and rushed towards our severed officers, dropping his torch to the floor as he ran, plunging us back into darkness.

Ah, one moment.

Just now.

Did you hear that?

Something metallic rolled off the shelf behind me.

And the light.

It's on.

It's 3.23 a.m.

We take precautions here.

The light is kept beneath triple seal glass.

Silver film encasing.

Blessed by four conflicting religions.

Still,

it flickers.

Still...

It remembers.

Take a breath.

Step away from the speakers.

This story isn't done with us yet.

But neither are the lights.

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.

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 y'all, I just wanted to say say that

loving the show so far.

Just found it starting from the beginning.

And

so far, very, very impressed.

I mean, I grew up on horror stuff, and this is,

you know, it's just a fun little bite-sized bit to horror.

I'm,

you know, I appreciate y'all.

That's all.

Keep doing what you're doing.

You're doing a great job.

End of messages.

And we're back.

The beam faded.

It always does.

The light never stays on long.

Just long enough to notice.

Now, where were we?

Ah, yes.

The woman.

The doors.

The screaming.

Let's finish what we started.

Shall we?

I hoped, and still hope.

Their deaths were swift and relatively painless, but their expressions told another horrifying story.

One that left me paralyzed in fear.

Vocal cords unable to expel a sound.

Harling, on the other hand, screamed and rushed towards our severed officers, dropping his torch to the floor as he ran, plunging us back into darkness.

I'd seen something for a moment at the back of the room.

Harling, pick the torch up.

I begged, rummaging in my pocket for my phone.

They're gone.

Harling sobbed.

No longer the sturdy officer of the law I'd known for five years, but a weeping mess.

I was a mess, too.

A jittery, terrified, fucking mess.

It wasn't sturdiness that kept me awake and alert.

It wasn't my duty to the law.

I need Harling to pick up his torch because we weren't alone in that that room.

Pick it up now, Harling.

I hurriedly activated my phone's light.

Harling

was fucking gone.

Low.

Whoever's in here, reinforcements are on the way, so.

Roger, we'll escort you all.

My stomach dropped as I realized that Harling's call hadn't made it through to anyone.

That voice,

inhuman and indistinct, did not belong to anyone or anything that wanted to help.

There came more slaps from behind me.

Only a few.

And when I spun my torch around, I expected to find nothing there once again.

So I screamed when I saw her.

Damns it.

Only

she had changed.

She showed only the whites of her eyes,

rolling them ever deeper into the back of her head.

And her mouth.

Her mouth was impossible.

It spanned the breadth of her face and then saw.

And it opened beyond human limits.

And to add to that hellishness, it revealed not human teeth, but incisors of obscene length, narrow width,

each tip tapered off to the finest point, which dripped with blood.

And even the canines and molars to the sides were unthinkably sharp, unthinkably capable of cleaving a creature neatly down its center.

Do you want me to stay, officer?

The thing cooed, as if playing with its food.

Then she...

it

charged towards me.

And I screamed louder than my lungs were built to accommodate.

Screamed as I braced for death.

Screamed.

Time feels a little hazy between that moment.

Which I expected to be my last

and the moment at which the responding officers found me.

They said they'd arrive in 20 minutes, but it may as well have been hours, or perhaps only seconds.

But she was gone when they got there and returned power to the building.

I was interrogated about the demise of my fellow officers, including the disappearance of Officer Harling, who was a suspect in the case, along with Tamsin, the mystery woman visible on CCTV footage before the blackout.

The discrepancy between your story and the truth is curious.

What discrepancy?

Well, the power to the building was undoubtedly cut, yet the automatic doors were standing open when Backup arrived at the station.

I felt my skin pale.

He said I'd need permission

to leave.

On November 4th, 1981,

a nine-year-old boy named Travis Dearden vanished while walking home from school in Gravel Switch, Kentucky.

No witnesses, no fingerprints, no body.

Five months later, a box of unlabeled audio cassettes was delivered anonymously to the Boyle County Sheriff's Department.

The return address was written in a mixture of animal blood and engine oil.

What follows is a compilation of those tapes, arranged chronologically by forensic analysts.

Authorities refer to the individual captured on the recordings only as Subject Thirty-six.

His voice has never been matched to any known suspect.

The child's voice, however, was confirmed to be Travis Dearden.

Tape 1: The Basement.

Say it nice about Travis

for the tape.

No, you're not.

Brand you.

You haven't been born yet.

But I'll fix that.

Make a better birthday.

Now

The tapes detail a process that local authorities describe as a form of psychological unmaking.

The kidnapper does not physically assault the boy in any traditional sense.

Instead, he forces the child to forget his name.

Then his parents, then his own body.

Tape three

game time

I forget where I keep my arms

On tape six, the boy refers to himself only as the one inside.

His speech patterns are erratic.

He begins repeating sounds that are not human.

Tape six,

the one inside.

Inside the head is the animal that remembers teeth.

I saw him crawl out of the wall.

He brought me rope made of birthday hair.

He says he's my shape now.

Can I be buried, or do I have to keep breathing?

Can I be buried?

What do I have to keep breathing?

Forensic analysts detect background noise on tape 11, believed to be a rural AM radio station broadcasting the local obituaries.

The names read on the tape were those of children who had not yet died.

Tape 11, the funeral game.

Now read them back to me, Travis.

The names.

The pretty names.

Erica, Jacob, June.

My name was June, I think.

No, I was just the idea of her.

You peeled me into pieces, and I spilled out other people.

You're almost ready to go outside again.

You're almost ready to go outside again.

On March 9th, 1982, the final tape arrived.

The envelope contained no return address, no fingerprint evidence.

Inside was a single cassette, labeled simply, Let him out.

He's gone now.

He left the door open behind his teeth.

I wore his clothes.

I walked in his face.

Now it's your turn to listen.

Press play, press play, press play, or I'll go back to your house instead.

The gravel switch tapes were never officially released.

The sheriff, who handled the case, burned down his home three days after listening to the final reel.

His last words were scratched into his bathroom mirror.

The tape learned my name.

Then it wore it.

Don't press play.

Don't let me in.

He's made of listening.

He's made

of

you.

The cape doesn't play you

not yet,

but it will.

It wants your fucking cave.

It wants your cave close.

L I P T Q I L I P T Q I L I P T, I L I P T, I L I P T, I L I P T Q

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 have a good night now.

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings.

Lot 086, Third Watch.

Written by Dominic Eagle.

Narrated by Trevor Shand.

Featuring Jessica McAvoy as the woman.

Melissa Medina as Officer Bowen.

Conan Freeman as Officer Harling.

Romy Evans as the interrogator.

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, and Red Light Chill.

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

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod.

For warning signs of satanic behavior, Maybe

X64C.

The Toxic Avenger is out now.

Experience the long-awaited, totally unrated monster mayhem exclusively in theaters.

Get tickets now at tickets.toxicavenger.com.

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.