Lot 083 : New Skin, New U

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.

R

Come in, come in.

And do forgive the smell.

Something clinical arrived earlier today for you.

Sanitized, but not clean.

Tonight's item is rather arbitrary at first glance.

A clipboard.

One sheet attached.

No letterhead.

No branding.

Just a bold phrase printed across the top.

Are you ready for new skin?

New you?

Below that, a checkbox.

And a place to sign your name.

No terms.

No fine print.

I've found that's often how the worst contracts begin.

You see, the thing about promises...

Especially the ones that smell faintly of lavender and rubbing alcohol, is that that they rarely come from kindness?

They come from need.

So, pen in hand, let's take a look at the price of beauty.

This is the story of new skin,

new you.

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 BJ Drapp, Fraser Bridges, John Joy,

Megan Landry,

Stephen Baxa, Uncle Touchy T,

Pixie Pops, Keela Patty,

TK,

and Robin Citizen.

We are ever appreciative of your devotion to the Order.

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

Now,

where were we?

Oh, yes.

Welcome to the Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

and Odd Goings On.

Be wary of the latest skincare trend.

My friend Megan is the trendiest person I know.

She always knows who's who, what to wear, and what to be talking about.

She is the queen of networking in this town.

I, on the other hand, could not be more persistently out of the loop if I tried.

Last week, I set up a landline and called my my grandma first.

My friendship with Megan is essential to me not being completely detached from the public.

Today is our monthly meetup at our favorite coffee shop to discuss life and how much it sucks being in the entertainment business and boys.

Well, at least for Megan.

And the thing is, I wouldn't be so mad if you didn't say yes in the first place.

Okay, wait, I'm sorry.

I literally have to stop you because your skin skin looks so good, I genuinely can't concentrate.

Thank God you noticed.

Otherwise, I was gonna march back to downtown and ask for my money back.

Do I look certifiably sister snatched?

Absolutely.

Ugh, thank god.

I went to this little hole in the wall I found from a group I'm in.

I can send you the link.

Please do.

It's been dry.

Real.

Plus all the smog and shit.

I feel so clean now.

You're seriously glowing.

Like, like you always look good, but it's genuinely hard to look at you right now.

Like, you're so pretty, it's hurting my eyes.

I have a stomachache.

Ugh, you make me sick.

Thank God, that was the intended effect.

Wait, let me text it to you right now.

Gorge.

Hell yeah.

Queen of not gatekeeping.

You've gotten a facial before, right?

No.

Oh.

What?

Nothing.

It's just...

What?

It's just that this is a little intense for your first time, is all.

Maybe Maybe you should try someplace else first.

What do you mean?

What?

Am I not tough enough for you?

No, it's just like

experimental.

This place is kind of for pros.

I'm a pro.

Oh, yeah?

When's the last time you went to bed without makeup on?

Nice remnants of a smoky eye.

Very soon-to-be pink-eye sheep.

Yep, no, no.

Infection is in right now.

Joke's on you.

You already sent me the link.

Yeah, before I realized who I was talking to.

What better way to begin my skincare journey than to jump into the deep end?

I guess that's fair.

But just so you know, it's pricey and, like I said, intense.

Sounds perfect.

I just got paid and I love wasting money.

Ugh, I really shouldn't have sent you that.

Now you're gonna be broke and I yet again can't have anything to myself.

Sucks to suck.

Okay, well, I'm sick of you, and also have to go feed my stupid cat that I unfortunately love and house.

You're a saint.

I know.

Keep me posted on how it goes, and if you make it out alive, we'll do.

And just like that, glowing goddess Megan stands up and heads out.

God, she looks good.

I take one last swig of my drink and chuck it into the trash on the way out.

Okay.

New skin knew you.

What the hell?

Damn, they must be busy.

Oh,

that's nice.

New skin new you.

That's it?

Okay, weird.

Um, okay.

Hi, I'm wondering if you have availability for sometime soon.

Maybe next week?

Now?

Now?

Okay, wait.

Uh...

A pin, but no address?

This is...

Oh.

Just then I catch myself in my rearview mirror.

Yikes.

I don't think I have the choice to be picky.

Plus, this place sounds super on the up and up, and this could be my only chance to try it before it blows up, So,

okay, honestly, sure.

Why not?

I'm broke, which makes me a bad thievery candidate.

And I have two kidneys.

They could have one.

I'm not greedy.

Sharing is caring.

So I put the car in reverse and head off to my new skin.

I park and begin to pay the meter, but I'm wondering how long this will be.

I pull up my phone to text, but then remember how little they seem to care about details.

Okay, it looks like the direction is.

Oh, no way.

I turn to see what looks to be an abandoned building.

Good lord, Megan.

Okay, but in her defense, she did say this was a hole in the wall.

I walk up to the glass door and see grimy trash littering the walkway.

Vandalized posters and gray concrete with black gum stuck deep into its pores.

This place could use a facial.

But hey, that's downtown for you.

I walk up to the open glass doors, already parted because most likely the mechanics are broken.

I enter the the dimly lit hallway and see closed storefronts everywhere.

I turn to my right and see maybe one or two things open.

I turn to my left and see a bright white light leaking out of a room at the end of the hall.

Against my better judgment, I walk towards it.

Yes, I walk towards the bright light, practically begging for death.

As I approach certain doom, I'm met with the most surprising twist yet.

It's so

nice.

Clean white walls, green plants.

The aroma of essential oils wafts out to me, catching my nose and breath in my throat.

As I take it all in, I'm met with a smile from the woman at the front desk, who is just as beautiful as the establishment itself.

Welcome.

Thank you.

You called earlier.

I did.

Hi, yes.

Here.

She hands me a clipboard with paperwork on it.

It.

All it says is...

Are you ready for new skin, new you?

Followed by a box to check yes and a place for your signature, and that's...

That's quite literally it.

I mean, I am.

Yeah.

Out with the old, in with the new, glowing sheen of success.

I mean, if I'm gonna make it anywhere in this town, I need to look put together and, well,

more like Megan.

I click the pen and check the box.

Then my signature.

Hmm.

No, my autograph.

What's that thing Megan does?

I'm...

I'm manifesting.

Yeah, I'm manifesting the shit out of this right now.

Whatever that means.

I hand the clipboard back to the woman with skin so luminous it rivals the freshly painted walls.

She smiles back at me.

Perfect teeth to fit her perfect face.

God, living in LA sucks.

I mean, it doesn't.

It really doesn't.

I love it here.

I really do.

It's.

It's actually my favorite place in the world.

It's just

also difficult trying to be around transplant tens all the time.

Especially if you grew up being cast as ensemble in school plays and going to prom with your friends and being asked out as a joke.

Just a moment.

With her perfect sing-song tone, I'm snapped out of my shame spiral.

Thank God.

I watch her as she turns away, her tight ass swaying.

Objectively tight ass.

I'm not objectifying.

I'm just observing.

She's perfect.

Just like Macon.

Maybe this treatment really will fix me.

I look around the waiting room.

It's serene, yet.

sterile.

I think that's a good thing.

It's supposed to be kind of medical, I think.

One thing I'm starting to notice, though, is

how humid it is in here.

I look up at the tall ceilings and see a bit of discoloration.

It's been painted semi-recently, that's for sure, but sloppily so.

Seems like a band-aid job, like a

landlord special.

It's strangely comforting that this place has a quirk.

Right this way.

The receptionist is back and leads me to a dim room with a plush-heated table.

She instructs me to disrobe to my comfort, get on the table, and once on it, to open the door for her.

Just a crack.

Not bad at all.

Just a little dry.

Hmm.

Very dry on your nose.

She begins to describe the treatment plan, but it's so lengthy and fast that I truthfully retain none of it.

But what I do note is that she says because this is my first time here, I get to try all the fancy stuff and get me hooked.

Little does she know, I can't afford to be here in the first place, so she won't catch me signing up for any membership.

But she doesn't need to know that.

Now,

just relax, okay?

Okay.

I feel weird being pampered at first, but soon, I'm putty in her hands, and I couldn't tell you a simple fact about anything if I tried.

Practically goop.

I would ooze right through her hands if I could.

Suddenly, all touch stops.

I feel an intense lack of contact after being so used to constant stimuli.

Then, she speaks.

Her voice noticeably lower and more serious than before.

Are you ready for the new you?

I'm still too relaxed for words, so I simply give her a nod.

Mm-hmm.

I can hear her walk over to the wall and grapple with the cord.

She clunks it around until I hear her shove it into a socket.

Slowly, a machine begins to come to life.

It

kind of shudders as it begins to heat up, or whatever it does, I don't really know.

After a moment, she hits the side of it.

The classic tech move.

Slap that thing.

Then, after

she swats it three, maybe four times,

it

sputters and begins

this

sound

oh wheeze

oxygen mask oh

before long she applies a cold cream mask to my face covering everything including my eyes I try really hard not to move them at all as she slathers it on me

the machine almost sounds so

strange it's

okay it's creepy if i'm being honest

but i also have to be open and stop being so judgmental this works it

i'm overthinking as usual

but

this thing

This mask sounds

I mean, obviously it's not, but

like the motor or something makes it sound like

breathing.

Low, labored, like it's.

That's.

Okay.

I.

Okay, I need to breathe.

Ironically, I need to relax.

That's the whole thing with these things.

Isn't it?

I hear water dripping.

I

feel

water dripping.

Okay, um,

I think that's the mask, actually.

I.

It's it's mixing with all that warm air.

I feel air around me.

It's

heavy, musky,

damp.

Okay, um,

it's a little

warm in here.

I'm sure that's good for my pores or something, but honestly, it's just really uncomfortable.

Okay, I'll just adjust how I'm laying and...

Oh, I think some of the mask dripped onto the table.

Ugh.

I land on top of.

something.

A soft.

mound of...

something.

What could this be?

Maybe if I kept up on the latest trends, I would know, and my mind wouldn't be playing such insane tricks on me.

My brain is currently insisting that this is a fleshy mass that has crept its way onto my back.

I breathe, trying to steady myself with a large intake of air, but as I exhale, it

moves.

It

pulses like a living thing.

contracting under the weight of a human body, trying to get comfortable under my pressure.

and before I can even think, I react.

I scream, a small, sharp scream, and the woman speaks.

Is everything all right?

Pardon the interruption, but sometimes when a story begins to unfold, just so: perfect posture, clipped vowels, radiant lighting, I find it wise to step away for a moment.

You see, some treatments promise transformation, and many deliver.

But the question is never: does it work?

No.

The question is always:

what leaves with you afterward?

I need to check the mirror in the hallway.

Lately, it's been reflecting people who aren't in the room.

When I return, we'll check in on our

patient.

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 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, Trevor, how's it going, man?

So, uh, I've got some good news and some bad news.

Good news is one of those gargoyles from that last customer, you know, the one that she called her babies?

babies.

Yeah, one's dead, like

real dead.

I cracked it clean down the middle.

It's currently riding in my trunk like a busted lawn order.

And

bad news is I only winged the other one.

It took off part of its face, but it is definitely still airborne and it is pissed.

Oh, yeah, and the woman who bought them, turns out she didn't appreciate someone taking out her stone kids.

She's got that, you just needed personal vibe.

Anyways, pretty sure the surviving one's making a beeline for your shop.

So if I were you, I'd layer up some extra wards, lock the skylights, maybe, I don't know, pull out the weeping mirror just in case.

I know you said that thing's a last resort, but if Discargo is flying blind on vengeance, then you might just need it.

I'm about 30 minutes out top, and I got a half tank of gas, a holy blade in the glove box, and just enough time to second-guess all of my career choices.

Hold the line, brother, until I get there.

I'll see you when I see ya.

End of messages.

There.

All sorted.

The mirror's quiet again.

For now.

Back to it then.

Where were we?

Ah, yes.

As the signature is still drying.

The moment just before the reveal.

When everything still feels possible.

And nothing has

quite started to hurt.

Let's continue.

Shall we?

Oh, I think some of the mask dripped onto the table.

Ugh.

I land on top of.

something.

A soft.

mound of

something.

What could this be?

Maybe if I kept up on the latest trends, I would know, and my mind wouldn't be playing such insane tricks on me.

My brain is currently insisting that this is a fleshy mass that has crept its way onto my back.

I breathe, trying to steady myself with a large intake of air, but as I exhale, it.

moves.

It...

pulses like a living thing, contracting under the weight of a human body, trying to get comfortable under my pressure.

And before I can even think, I react.

I scream, a small, sharp scream, and the woman speaks.

Is everything alright?

Yes.

Why?

Why would I say that?

Oh, damn, my people pleasing.

But

maybe it's for the best.

I need to chill.

If I knew everything she was doing, it would help my nerves.

If I would have asked beforehand what she was doing when she was.

But you didn't, dude.

So just.

breathe.

There can be a slight.

discomfort with this procedure.

Oh.

Okay, that's helpful.

Okay, okay.

So it's not just me.

It's...

It's gotta be enough of a thing if she says that as a general statement, so.

just keep breathing.

Now, breathe.

Breathe.

I can't breathe.

I open my eyes underneath my mask that she's placed on my face, and I immediately regret it.

Cream falls into my eyes and slides all around them as I flail in pain.

Stop!

Stop!

Calm down!

Calm down!

What happened?

I opened my eyes.

I opened my eyes.

Well, don't do that.

Sorry, sorry.

She begins to harshly wipe my eyes using what feels like a rubber spatula.

Ah, god.

Stinks.

She then wipes off the residue with a cotton round.

I then hear her get up.

I'll be right back.

Sorry.

A moment of silence.

It's now just me

and

the breathing.

Low, labored hissing.

My mind can't help but focus on it.

I need to see this thing, to put a stop to my imagination running embarrassingly wild.

I've already ruined this so far.

What's a little more of a burn?

I slowly open my eyes.

A film over my vision.

I blink rapidly and it stings badly, but I'm used to it enough to be able to breathe through it.

Just again, just breathe.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

As my vision clears,

the less I seem to understand what I'm seeing.

Where the bright light of the overhead once was,

there's seemingly now a huge shadow cast.

The ceiling looks different from before.

It's

textured.

It's ridged.

Rippling.

Soft

pink and

brown and

shiny.

Shiny with a...

a sheen over it, like...

like it's wet.

As my perception adjusts, I realize I'm not looking at the ceiling at all.

Warm air continues to surround me.

It's then that I realize that it's the cover of the oxygen mask.

It's still over me and it's cavernous and close.

Just then,

a long string of wetness slowly descends from the source.

like a loose spider web floating down upon the air.

It doesn't move as as water should.

It's

far too slow for that.

It gets closer,

closer, and then lands on the skin above my lip.

I get a chill in my spine when I recognize the texture.

Even though I knew,

I still brought my finger to it

to feel

it

as it coated my fingers.

I brought them together like a fly cleaning itself.

Sticky, warm saliva pinched between the pads.

A scream lodged in my throat as I scrambled off the table.

Muscle and mass feeling me as I wiggled my way off of it.

Further saliva now dripping down, slipping down my back and matting my hair.

On the way out, thrashing from fear, my forehead hit a jagged tooth stuck into the pink ripples and

a small stream of blood began to trickle down my face.

As I balanced myself standing, I stared at the scene before me, trying to make sense of it.

Never in my wildest would I have ever...

Even as I was panicking on the table, scaring myself with my own imagination, I would have never dreamt up this monstrosity.

Before me,

a horrific humanoid,

half human, half machine labored,

hunched over the table, bones intermingling with cord and plastic,

breathed the living oxygen mask.

Its skin was pale,

at times translucent, showing the wiring underneath intertwined with its veins.

Its eyes were a milky white and blue,

sallow and unseeing.

The right eye would blink independently of the left, which remained opened and squinted.

Its mouth stretched a deeply unnatural amount as

my knees buckled.

I could see that it had been held open with metal rods.

The kind underneath a fold-up table.

A silver hinge to keep it hypo-elergetic for the rich customers from Beverly.

The hinge was heavily covered by the fat and its cheeks known.

From scar tissue,

from being pushed far past the means it was ever supposed to.

Unnatural.

My stomach churned as I watched its soft palate lift and drop, breathing this beloved breath that I paid top dollar for.

That's when I took in the side view.

Its neck,

stretched with steel like a snake, connected to its small shoulders that plugged directly into its power source.

Skins sat on top of the settings, stapled and sutured, and healed over and reopened and scabbed again.

I see the percentage on the screen:

76%

complete.

I don't know what the hell that means, but

all I know is that I have to.

I then hear the door opening, the handle twisting, and without thinking,

I slam myself onto it.

Sorry!

Silence falls between us for a moment before we both realize that we both know what's happening.

Or not that I know, but that I know that things have changed and

you shouldn't be up.

Your treatment isn't finished.

I know.

I.

I'm sorry.

I'm not feeling well.

You should let me take care of you.

No, that's okay.

I want to help you.

Thank you, but I really, I really just...

I want to get home.

Silence again, but I don't hear her leave.

I hold the door shut while I throw on my shirt and shove on my shoes, and while I do, she speaks again.

I want to help you.

I can help you.

As soon as I'm ready enough, I throw open the door, push her down, and run without looking back.

Why won't you let me help you?

I run down the hallway, pushing against the walls when I start to fall from fear.

My head spins as I spot the door.

I feel like I'm running in a dream.

But when I near the door and turn back,

all all I see is her

standing behind the desk as before.

She looks put together, breathing calm as if nothing had happened.

It was near deja vu, except

her expression.

Though still languid, lukewarm, it

held a sort of

disappointment.

I stared at her, like a deer caught for a moment, before running out of the door and out of the building.

I got into my car and started driving.

It wasn't until I was halfway home that I began screaming.

Screaming.

A mix of incoherent words and fears and tears.

I didn't stop the whole way home.

I'm writing this because

I don't know what to do with this.

I don't know how to process this.

I just.

I can't stop thinking about that poor thing.

I want to help it.

Save it.

I just don't know what to do.

What can I do?

I didn't sleep all night and this morning I got an email saying they had gone for somebody else for a role I really thought I had.

I was so right for it.

And it would have changed everything.

But they said I just didn't quite have the look they were going for.

I haven't left the bed other than to do what I have to to survive.

Though

when I did get up to drink my dinner, because all I can keep down are shakes right now, I

caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

And I

looked

radiant,

just

stunning.

But

I can't help but think

that I only look 76%

of the way there.

Plus now I have this little

scar forming from where the tooth hit my forehead.

That'll take weeks to heal and then

that scar won't look good on camera.

I think of the clinic again.

I mean...

It's already already being used.

And I've already paid for it.

I mean, that would just be

a waste.

You know?

Maybe I can

do some googling and see the ethics of it.

I mean...

I mean, it is kept alive and housed.

That's more than some can say, and.

God, this glow looks good.

I now find myself standing in front of the mirror again.

I have headshots next week, too.

I need to look my best.

I'm so

sick of looking at this mug in front of me.

Of course, they didn't want me.

I'm disgusting.

I look like every other bitch.

Uncastable loser freak.

Useless.

I just

need a little change.

They didn't want me, and I don't blame them, really.

It's it's for me to solve casting's problem, so I just need to be

the solution.

I just need to be

new.

A new

me.

I need to give them what they want, and then I can use my platform to help that thing.

Yeah,

I can raise awareness.

Yeah.

This feels good.

Friday,

3 p.m.

24%.

And keep

your eyes

closed.

And I most certainly will.

V M M L R P U N P C M S L C O H U K A O L C A H N L P C O L S S

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 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 083, New Skin, New You.

Written by Romy Evans.

Narrated by Romy Evans.

Starring Dee Quintero as the nurse.

Reagan Seitzma as Megan,

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 and Vivek Abishek.

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.